


With a Little Luck

by SandfireKat



Category: The Good Doctor (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drama, Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, No Romance, Overdose, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sadness, mild language warning, tw suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-04-29 14:56:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14475132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandfireKat/pseuds/SandfireKat
Summary: With a little luck, Glassman's cancer would be beaten with chemotherapy and radiation. With a little luck, he would go into remission, and everything would be fine.Shaun doesn't believe in luck.But everyone else is going to need some to try and get him through this loss.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little something I wanted to write on the side; it isn't a request, it's just something I wanted to write myself. Something I thought was important and wanted to do justice. Just like my last original one, it's not the happiest, but it's important. I'm not sure how long it will be, it was originally just supposed to be a oneshot. I'm thinking two chapters, but it'll remain to be seen. It is a heavy story, and I listed any possible triggers in the tags. I hope you all like it regardless <3  
> Like I always say, I edit my stories as best I can but typos always slip through. If there are any still hanging around, I apologize. Along with anything else that might be wrong and I could possibly fix.

"Five days a week for six weeks of radiation, ten more weeks of chemotherapy."

"And then?"

"And then…with a little luck…you and I can go to the Super Bowl next season."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was early, and it was a Monday.

Shaun and Glassman sat together, at the same table they went to every week. Like clockwork, they met at the same time and ordered the same thing, neither of them put off by the routine that surrounded the morning. In fact, the routine was the most important part of it all. The most craved part. This ritual was done every Monday, and it carried with it the full intention of every Monday after this one being the same. A carbon copy. The promise that their week would start with pancakes and talking, and despite anything that could happen in the meanwhile, they could make it through, because next Monday would hold the same respite.

"Jared said if we were in a horror movie, he would be the only one to live. But Claire said that he would die in the first five minutes," Shaun was explaining. Glassman cracked a smile, fondness layered over his expression like icing on a cake. Shaun took another bite of his pancakes, almost done by now. His shift was starting in fifteen minutes. Normally, he wouldn't be able to wait— he'd be rushing off the very instant he was finished with his meal, already too excited over what might happen that day to stop and think about anything else. But today, just like the past three Mondays they had eaten together, he would stay right up until the very last second. He would linger at the table and he would talk, instead of just rushing off to the next thing.

He wasn't as interested in the next thing.

He wanted to stay here, in this moment. So, he did.

"Claire said I would be the one to live at the end," Shaun continued. His eyes flickered down to Glassman's plate. He did not mistake the fact that he hadn't taken more than five bites of his food. They had been sitting here for nearly an hour, now— again, like every Monday. And yet he hadn't eaten much at all. "Do you not like your food?" he asked, staring dully at the laden plate.

Glassman didn't look up from the table, but he did inhale a little sharper. "No, no, of— of course I do, Shaun." His eyes flickered to his, and he flashed him a tiny smile. As if to provide evidence for this point, he cut off a tiny sliver and popped it into his mouth. His grin was wider when he did so, but Shaun didn't smile back. Instead, he shifted in his chair, a little uncertain. Seeing this, Glassman moved on swiftly. "Tell Claire I agree with her. Well…I'd be a little more generous…Jared could probably make it at least ten minutes." His eyes went soft, and his voice turned light. He was teasing.

Shaun said nothing. His eyes went down to his plate again.

Glassman's did as well. He looked up with a small cough, and he flashed the younger man a tiny grin. "You should get to work," he said bracingly. "Melendez is never a fan of waiting, and I don't think that's changed much. The world might turn upside down, and the sky might turn yellow, but Melendez will always find a reason to complain when things don't go his way." Again, he was joking. But Shaun's expression just flickered, and he looked away, towards one of the windows. It looked nice outside. There was a little wind. The sun was out.

"We should go on a walk," Shaun murmured.

Glassman frowned. "You have work, Shaun."

"And you don't," Shaun replied, just as softly.

Glassman's smile was much less enthused, this time around. He lifted the edges of his lips up, but the expression didn't touch his eyes. "Well…I have an appointment later on today, anyway. Even if I had a job to go to, I wouldn't be able to make it." He was trying to make his voice light again, like he had for the last joke he'd told. But it didn't quite hit the same note. It seemed hollower, this time around.

Sitting tensely between them was the shared memory of walking into Andrews' office, of explaining the error that had been made, despite all the success they'd had in righting the wrong. Of Andrews' response they both knew would come, pointing out the promise that had made in full, and the condition that now had to be met because of that. Shaun had tried to object; he had tried to pin the blame fully on himself. To him, it was the right thing to do— he was the one that had slipped. He was the one that had made the error, he should be the one to be dismissed. But Glassman had reassured it wasn't necessary. He would step down willingly, and Andrews could have his place. It would give him time to tend to his health, anyway, he'd said.

Shaun had been suspended for a brief period of time. He hadn't cared in the slightest. He'd spent the time with Glassman, instead. He'd made absolutely sure that the treatment plan was as effective as it could be, in that time, and that there were absolutely no questions to it. Glassman, learning his lesson, had allowed him to. But they had done other things, too. They'd gone out to the mall, and they'd spent hours walking in the park, just talking. They'd spent one afternoon googling the most complicated recipes they could find and attempted to recreate the dish. Mostly, thanks to Shaun, each one was near perfect.

The time had flown by.

Now that Shaun was allowed back at work, he found he missed being with him.

Glassman seemed to read his thoughts. His expression went tender, and his voice turned soft when he repeated: "You have work, Shaun."

He hesitated. Thought about arguing. But he knew he was right, and so eventually, he dipped his head in a tiny nod. "Okay." Glassman nodded too, and apparently that was all that was needed to be said. Shaun stood and took his tray with him, turning and making a stop at the trash can. He'd take the steps and go to get ready, meeting up with Claire and Jared like he always did. He would try and get his mind to focus on work. It would, eventually, but it would be slow going at first. Just like it had been for the past week, ever since he returned.

He left the cafeteria, and he left Glassman. The old man sighing just a little bit underneath his breath as he looked down at his barely-eaten breakfast.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"…and that's the story of how I ended up accidentally breaking the hand of the cutest guy in school," Claire finished almost proudly, ignoring the fact that Jared was beside himself snickering. "I couldn't help it! I wasn't even thinking, it was just a blur; one second, I was flirting, the next, I was slamming my locker on his hand! It wasn't my fault."

"Pretty sure it was entirely your fault," Jared replied.

"Well, you would be wrong, then," she giggled, taking another sip of her drink.

They'd all gone out to dinner together. It had been a good shift at work, and…well, they wouldn't have many more left to celebrate. Jared had just told them recently…he would be leaving Saint Bonaventure in only two short months to leave for Colorado, to start a new residency, there. They'd been shocked at first, and confused— Claire had tried to persuade him to stay. But there wasn't much to be done, and now they'd just decided they should have as much fun together as they could until the day came. Tonight, they'd gone out and Claire had paid in full. Shaun had brought along Glassman; though he hadn't exactly asked, the two were more than happy to have him along. All night, they'd been laughing and talking.

But now, Shaun wasn't really paying attention. He was staring at Glassman's empty seat.

"So, do you know much about the program down there? In Denver?" Claire asked.

"Well, it's not much different from here. Colder, for sure," Jared said, laughing. Though the laugh was the tiniest bit hollow. He seemed thoughtful as he leaned a bit more on the table. "Their staff is exemplary; I spent an entire night reading about their—"

"I'll be back," Shaun announced, breaking straight through whatever it was Jared was trying to say. The two looked up at his declaration, and Claire frowned a little uncertainly. Like she was worried about something. But Shaun didn't spare a thought for her. He just pushed away from the table and turned to make for the bathroom, where Glassman had gone nearly ten minutes ago. Concern, ever-present, was what led Shaun to weave through the other tables and double back to the corner of the restaurant.

He used his elbow to push open the door, and he walked quickly across the threshold. He was already opening his mouth to call and see if Glassman was still in here, when a sudden noise cut him off before he could. It was a sound that every doctor was unfortunately more than familiar with— the sound of harsh, violent retching. Someone was throwing up. Immediately, Shaun sobered and tucked tightly into himself. He found that he couldn't walk forward; he just stood there silently, his eyes a little wide. Too unsure to walk in more, towards the stall the vomiting was coming from.

Or too afraid to.

But it didn't matter. Once the retching finally stopped and once the mess was flushed away and the door opened, it was revealed anyway. Shaun was still standing stiffly in front of the entryway when Glassman shuffled out. He was ashen and gray; sweat was beading over his forehead, and, in the moment he was unaware of Shaun's attention, his expression was haggard and weighted. Like he was exhausted. Shaun's stomach clenched at the sight. Glassman looked up and noticed too late that he was standing there. He seemed surprised, and alarmed. Guilty. Somehow.

He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

Shaun couldn't say anything, either.

They both just stared at one another. The silence between them ear-splitting.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"I saved a life today," Shaun announced. He was studying the way the light slanted through the leaves as they walked down through the neighborhood. "His name was Cory. He was ten, and had Biliary atresia. We had to reconstruct the bile ducts and reattach them to the liver. It was easy." He was quiet for a while. But, finding the silence somewhat uncomfortable, he added: "He drew a picture for Claire. She was very happy."

Glassman hummed. Their strides matched one another's. Shaun was walking slower than normal, to keep even. If the older man noticed the allowance, he didn't make any note of it. "What was the picture?" he asked.

"A lion," Shaun returned. "It was skateboarding."

"Original," Glassman noted.

"Yes," he agreed. "He drew another picture of an octopus holding eight lollipops. He gave that one to Jared. Jared asked Claire later if she wanted to switch, but she said no."

"He didn't draw one for you?"

"He—"

Glassman fell. The path was clear, and they weren't walking all that fast. But nevertheless, before Shaun had the chance to react in any way, he was falling like a rock. He stumbled over air, and he hit the ground hard, unable to catch himself in time to avoid the heavy contact. It happened so fast that the old man's cry of pain was the thing that caught Shaun's attention. He whirled around and his eyes widened with alarm. Not wasting a single second, he flew down beside him, already looking him over for injuries. His hands were scraped, but it seemed like that was it. There wasn't any more damage.

"Are you…okay?" Shaun's voice was clenched, and it came out tinier than normal. More reluctant.

Glassman was staring at the ground. For the life of Shaun, he would never be able to decipher the expression that was on his face. "I…" He took in a slow breath; it shook on its way down. "I…yes, I'm…just…fell. I just fell, I…" He made a move to get up, and Shaun drew away to allow him room, wilting as he did. But the effort to rise was useless. As soon as he started to try, he stumbled again and had to catch himself. He grimaced hard and murmured under his breath: "Can you— Shaun, can you help me up?" he whispered, his head ducked low.

Shaun hesitated still. He crouched there on the ground beside him, alarmed and confused. His vision began to blur and smear, and he felt his throat become hot. But after a beat of silence, he only nodded. "Yes," he reassured, getting up a bit so that he could reach down and help Aaron pick himself up off the ground. He stumbled again, but Shaun was there to brace him so that he didn't fall. He had to support most of the other man's weight, but he took the burden without hesitation. He planted his feet down and looped the man's arm over his shoulders as he held fast to his other. He made sure he was steady.

And he helped him walk the entire way back to his house.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Are you feeling any better?" Shaun pressed. His stare was drawn with worry when he looked at Glassman. He was feeling sick today, after another round of radiation. He was laying down on the couch; Shaun had pressed him to lie down when he'd noticed he was swaying on his feet, and he had even tucked a blanket on top of him to try and help make him more comfortable. Glassman looked like he was half-asleep as it was, but Shaun continued, his voice tightening bit. "You should come into work with me tomorrow, we can…speak with—"

"Hand me the—" Glassman's voice was so soft, Shaun almost missed it.

The young man stopped short, his face falling. He turned, looking around in confusion. He waited for Glassman to finish the request, but he didn't. "What…do you need?" he prompted slowly.

"The—" He couldn't finish. It was like he was choking on whatever was trying to come out.

Shaun looked back, pained. "I…" His eyes stung. His chest tightened. "I don't know what you need."

Glassman's expression crumbled briefly. Frustration was there, and deep sorrow, and bubbling panic. He tried and failed again. "The—" He inhaled sharply. "The—"

"The remote?" Shaun asked, his hands clenching tightly in front of him. "The blanket?"

Glassman closed his eyes in a tight grimace. He raised one hand to his forehead, and struggled to get whatever it was, out. His voice only grew more and more choked the longer he tried. And Shaun's eyes teared faster and faster. "The— the— the—"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Shaun called in sick today. He was worried. He had to stay here, and make sure Glassman…

"What are you looking for?" Shaun asked warily, watching as Aaron rushed from one side of the room to the other. He was agitated, and tense, grumbling under his breath as he looked under couch cushions and pillows. He looked behind furniture and in drawers, like he had been the past ten minutes. Despite his searching, nothing came as a result. His frustration was only building. Shaun was standing in the middle of it all, baffled as he watched him. "If you tell me what you're looking for, I can help you find it," he reassured.

"I lost it!" Glassman snapped, and Shaun cringed away from the yell. "I can't find it, I've looked everywhere!"

"What did you lose?" Shaun pressed. "I can help you. But you have to tell me."

"It's nowhere, I can't— I didn't set it anywhere else, I put it where I always put it…" Glassman grumbled, ignoring Shaun completely. The younger's lips pressed together tightly as he watched him rush around the room. His hands were wringing together, and he ducked his head a little bit. He stared off to the side, trying to take a moment to calm down and collect himself as Glassman kept muttering angrily. "I have no idea where it could be, this is absolutely ridiculous, it was right here just a second ago…"

"What are you looking for?" Shaun all but pleaded. When he looked to him, his expression was near despairing.

Glassman's shoulders tensed even more, and when he whirled around to Shaun, rather than answering him, all he did was snap: "Are you going to help me, or not!?"

Again, Shaun cringed, but again, Glassman didn't seem to care. He just turned away with a heavy sigh, shaking his head. He kept tearing the room apart for whatever it was he was thinking of. Shaun still had no idea. But, straightening up again with a sinking heart, Shaun slowly forced himself to take in a breath. He locked his jaw and swallowed back the sick feeling rising from in his throat. He started forward. He said nothing more, he just resigned himself to work alongside his mentor. To look behind pillows and underneath books and over shelves.

Searching blindly for absolutely nothing.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, looking at her friend carefully. With concern.

Shaun, Claire, and Jared were sitting in the doctor's longue, having been given their first break in six hours. Shaun looked tired. He had bags under his eyes so dark they looked more like bruises, and the way he was sitting made it seem like he was carrying a million pounds on his shoulders. He was staring ahead with a vacant sort of expression, like there was absolutely no thought in his mind at all. Like he was too tired for such a thing to be applicable. When he replied, his voice was dull. Not at all the normal cheery tone they were used to. "I'm not the one with a brain tumor," he all but whispered. He didn't even blink.

"Is he still getting worse?" Jared asked. "None of the treatments are working?"

Shaun was silent for a very long time. He still wasn't blinking, but Claire realized the only reason he wasn't was because water was building up in his eyes. His voice was thicker when he did speak. "No. He…gets worse every day. I've been trying to get him to find another doctor, but he refuses." Every day, there was a new level to sink to. Every day there was another thing wrong. Shaun looked down at the table. He kept his lips tight, to keep them from shaking. "He won't let me help him. He won't let me keep him from dying."

Claire looked at Jared desperately, and he tried to do his best to come up with something. "Maybe it just takes a little bit more time, for him," he urged, the sentiment nowhere near enough. It was glaringly obvious, probably to everyone, but he kept with it all the same. "The human brain is…a wildly intricate thing, we hardly know how it works, how it functions, and reacts. He could just respond slower to the treatment, it could just take more time. You're doing everything right; I'm sure once they start taking effect, it'll get better in no time. I'm positive."

He certainly didn't sound like he was.

Shaun was quiet. Claire weakened and asked: "Is there anything we can do, Shaun?"

He stared. Again, there was nothing for ages. And when there finally was something, it wasn't a response to her question. It was merely a fact, stated neatly and very clear.

"I don't believe in luck."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Why am I here?" Glassman demanded. Not for the first time.

Shaun was sitting in the padded recliner next to his bed. The familiar walls of Saint Bonaventure's neurology floor surrounded them on all sides. The curtains were drawn, to block out the light. It lessened Glassman's headaches, that way. The young man roused at the question and felt his stomach twist into knots. He inhaled gradually and let it out just as much so. He gave the same answer he had the last three times the question had presented itself. "You'll get better here," he reassured. He nodded once and added softer: "You're being taken care of."

"I can take care of myself," he muttered, his voice coming out sounding different, and muffled. Like the words were blurring together, and they didn't know exactly where to end. Shaun stared down at the floor, finding that it was easier than looking at him. "I don't need to be in here…I want to go home."

"You can't," Shaun objected, closing his eyes. "You have to stay here. You'll fall again, you'll—"

"Where am I?"

Shaun looked away, to the TV on the wall. His heart was heavy. It felt like it was turning inside out. At first, he thought he wouldn't be able to respond. He was surprised when he did manage it. "You're in the hospital. You're at Saint Bonaventure." For some reason, he was compelled to press: "Where I work. Where you worked— you were the president, here. You worked here." Shaun's chest burned. This was his floor, this was his department. And yet he didn't even recognize the walls that he'd walked through countless times before. It was one of the things he should have known like the back of his hand. And yet…

"I was never a president," Glassman argued, irritation thick in every word.

"You were," Shaun urged. He sounded choked. "You were…a very good one, and you saved many—"

"Did you put me in here?"

He winced. Shoved it all down and struggled to keep himself in check enough to reply. "You fell, and you have been showing signs of—"

"Why can't I leave?"

"You can't take care of yourself, you need help, you—"

"I can take care of myself. I don't need to be in here…I want to go home."

Shaun was crying, but he was trying his best not to show it. He was trying not to let his breathing hitch so loud that Glassman would notice. But he couldn't keep how broken his voice was growing when he spoke again. "I'll…stay right here, I won't leave either," he promised. Tears burned his eyes and smeared his vision so much, he was almost blind. "I can stay here with you and…listen to you, and keep you company, I won't go anywhere."

"Did you put me in here?" Glassman asked again.

Shaun clamped his mouth closed before any noise could choke its way out of his mouth. He swallowed hard and tried: "I can change the channel, if you want something else. We can watch—"

"Where am I?"

Shaun jerked, tensing into himself as he closed his eyes. He ducked his head low, and he felt his shoulders begin to shake. He didn't reply this time. He couldn't. He couldn't even exhale without a sob threatening to sneak its way out. And he couldn't cry— not here. Not right now. Later, he would. Like he had what felt like every night this week. He would then. When he was alone. But not now.

"Why am I here?"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Shaun stared dully at the vending machine. He'd started to look for something quick to force down his throat, but his mind had slowly wandered and ebbed away. Now he was just standing and staring more into space, hardly even blinking. He was tired. He was drained. His eyes were aching, thanks to how many times he'd had to wipe them free of tears. They were red and inflamed— had been for the past three days. In those three days, he'd barely eaten anything. He hadn't been hungry. Just like he wasn't hungry now.

"Shaun!"

He didn't even rouse at the first call. It took Claire two more tries as she came up the hall to catch his attention. He turned, blinking slowly as tore his numbed gaze away from the chips and junk food. Things that would likely only make him feel worse should he eat them. Claire's smile was bright at first, though it wavered once Shaun turned his exhausted gaze onto her. She quickly tried to right it though, and beam at him anyway. She was compensating— practically radiating cheer, since he was giving off anything but. "How are you doing?" she asked, her voice gentle. Shaun blinked and just turned back around. She walked until she came to a stop beside him. He could still feel her gaze burning hot into his skin. "How's Glassman doing?" This question was softer.

Shaun's eyes rifled through the selection, knowing now that he wouldn't have anything. That the effort was worthless. His reply was almost too quiet to hear. "He's…lost vision in his right eye," he breathed. He didn't look to see Claire's reaction. His voice was even quieter when he added: "He can't swallow his food anymore."

It seemed like ages before Claire spoke. She only repeated herself. "How are you doing?"

His eyes narrowed. Something close to anger crawled over his face. "Why are you asking me that?" he demanded, the smallest hint of reproach slowly building in strength from underneath his tone. Claire weakened, and she might have replied, but he was sweeping on before she could. "I'm not the one in the hospital. I'm not hurt— you should be worried about Glassman. You should be asking about him, not me!" The more he spoke, the more his voice sharpened and escalated in volume. Once the yell burst out, he cringed down into himself just a little bit. But he didn't apologize.

Claire took a step closer. She reached out, starting to move as if to touch his shoulder. "Shaun…" she murmured. "Is he sleeping now? Maybe…come with me, somewhere. Or maybe…you could…just go and talk to someone? Just for a little bit? While he won't notice you're gone?" she prompted gently. "It doesn't have to be me or Jared, if you don't want it to be, you could always—"

"No," he whispered again, his voice tighter this time.

She just took another step closer, pained. "But Shaun, if you—"

The instant her hand touched his shoulder, he was jerking fast away from her, the motion so violent it took her words away. "I said no!" he screamed, the sudden yell bouncing off the otherwise-silent walls of the neurology floor. Immediately, Claire staggered backwards, snatching her hand back like she'd been burned. Shaun kept staring straight ahead, his eyes wide and his breathing haywire. Tears were making his eyes shine brighter than normal; Claire found, looking at her friend, that she was the same.

She tried to speak again. Maybe to apologize.

But Shaun was rushing away before she could.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"It's nice out today," Shaun murmured softly.

Glassman's eyes were closed. He looked like he was asleep, but Shaun knew he would be listening.

Or he hoped.

"It's supposed to be nice all week…we can…go out and walk again, soon. Maybe it'll be just as nice."

Glassman didn't speak. But Shaun thought he saw his lips twitch into a faint grin.

Ages passed, in silence.

"You're going to live," Shaun encouraged quietly. "You told me you would."

No smile, this time.

Shaun redirected his words. "Please live." He didn't know whether he was asking God, or Glassman. He was just asking anyone that could fulfill the request, he supposed. His lips trembled, and his eyes grew hot and stung. "Please don't die, too," he pleaded in a tiny croak. Ages passed in silence, before he added, in one final desperation: "I love you. You can't die. You can't leave me."

But he didn't get a response.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was four in the morning. Exhausted, Shaun was where he always was, at Glassman's bedside. He hadn't slept in more than twenty-four hours. His eyes were sore, both from wiping them constantly, and now from just the simple task of keeping themselves open. The silence in the room was making his head throb and ache. He wanted to go home. He wanted Glassman to be able to go home. He wanted things to be normal again. He wanted everything he couldn't have. And the knowledge was like a yawning hole in the center of his chest.

He rubbed at his eyes again. He was trying his best to lay down in the chair; he was shifted so that his head was on the armrest, and his legs were drawn tight to his chest. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but it had been his position for the entire week Glassman had been hospitalized. Every day, he had watched him deteriorate, and he had spent the night this way; any sleep he managed to get came fitful and uneasy. He would only sleep for an hour or two before he was jerking awake again, absolutely terrified he would miss something. He never did. The decline was slow. There wasn't anything sudden. But still, he couldn't shake the fear. It was what kept him awake now.

The silence was deafening. So when it was broken, even by the smallest of mumbles, Shaun was perking and looking towards the source. He lifted his head and sat up a little bit, trying to shake off his fatigue. Glassman had turned ever so slightly to look towards him. His eyes were barely open, and though he smiled, the expression was hardly there. Shaun sat up more, his heart lodging in his throat. Before he could ask if Glassman wanted anything, a question he knew wouldn't receive a logical answer, Glassman whispered something to him softly.

"The sun stays hot," he rasped, the words barely making it out. His smile grew just a little bit more after he said this. Only briefly, before it dropped away again. Succumbing to the haze that was keeping him from making any sense.

The four words were lost on Shaun. He sat a little more forward, tears blurring the colors in front of him and making them mesh into one muddled thing. Something odd that didn't make any sense. Which was all Glassman could get out nowadays. "What?" he asked, already begging him to rouse enough to elaborate. But Glassman was fading away again. Shaun's chest tightened, and an unbearable mix of frustration and sorrow choked hard around his trachea. "What do you mean?" he begged, his voice cracking just a little bit. He needed this. He needed to understand what Glassman meant. It was important.

But Glassman didn't clarify.

Shaun screwed his eyes shut tightly. He ducked his head down low, as if in defeat, and he dug his nails down into the chair as hard as he could. He didn't make a single sound, because he didn't want Glassman to notice, and he didn't want one of the nurses or technicians to come running. But sitting there in the dark hospital room, Shaun began to unravel— his shoulders heaved with the harsh and grating sobs he was just barely holding back. Tears rushed down the sides of his face now, and he slowly began to curl back up. As if there was something to be gained from doing so.

As if he could hide away and disappear, and everything else would too.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Shaun stood, motionless and unresponsive. He may as well have been made of stone.

Like he was just another grave marker.

"Shaun?" Claire asked softly. She and Jared stood a little ways away, lingering when the rest of the crowd had left only because they noticed their friend had not moved. He was still standing in front of Glassman's grave, and his expression was just as empty and blank as it had been throughout the entire funeral. Tears were wet on his face, but he wasn't blinking. He didn't stir at his name. He was a statue. "Shaun, we were going to get breakfast…how about you come with us?" she prompted gently, offering a smile even though he wasn't looking at her.

Shaun said nothing.

Claire wilted. She tried to take a few steps forward. "Shaun, I can't imagine—"

Jared reached out and caught her by the shoulder. She looked back at him, as if to object, but he just shook his head once. His expression was grim, and she knew there wasn't any arguing against him when she turned back to look at Shaun. She ducked her head and swallowed back her grief and her remorse. Instead, she just gave a tiny nod. "Okay," she breathed. "We'll…check in on you soon, okay?" she asked. Shaun didn't look away from the site. Her eyes flashed raw with pain. "Text me later. Or…I'll text you. Is that…okay?"

Shaun's expression fractured. His lips trembled, but he still refused to speak, or even glance at her.

Jared stepped to the side and urged her away. Forcing themselves on Shaun wasn't the answer. He needed time to grieve, and when he was over, they would be there waiting for him. Still, a certain kind of guilt was gnawing at her when she turned and started back towards her car. Shaun didn't object, and in fact, his shoulders loosened just a little when they started to leave. But still, she glanced over her shoulder countless times as they picked their way back through the cemetery. She didn't want to leave him alone, even if that was what he wanted right now.

Nobody deserved to be alone. Especially not now.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Alright, then, which one of you is going to—?" Melendez cut himself off as he looked up. He blinked, looking surprised as his eyes flickered from one resident to another. They were all standing together, waiting for him like they did every morning. Park, Reznick, Browne, Kalu, and— "Where's Murphy?" he asked, and his eyes immediately went to Claire, figuring she was the most likely out of all of them to have the answer. She looked tired; she had bags under her eyes, and a certain stooped characteristic to her posture. Like she had just finished a marathon and came in dead last, despite her best efforts.

All she offered was a blunt: "Not here." She looked away, like she couldn't bear to hold his gaze.

Melendez took this in. A long pause was conjured as he seemed to make some sort of conclusion of his own. "That's the third time this week," he stated. His voice was just as blank as his face was. He was taking every precaution he could to make sure nothing leaked to the outside. Whether that was anger or pity, there was no telling. Either was a prime candidate. Claire still looked away, and Jared reached up to rub at his forehead with the tiniest of grimaces. Between the two of them, there was a story and an explanation. Or at least more so than what Melendez had himself, at the moment. He prompted: "Is he sick?"

This question was apparently the wrong one. Claire's lips pressed even tighter, and she crossed her arms tightly over her stomach. She looked pointedly at the ground, and, after a brief hesitation, Jared leaned over and put his hand down comfortingly on her shoulder. Morgan was watching the two oddly. For the way she was staring at them, they could have turned into watermelons and rolled away down the hall. Neither of them paid her any mind, though. Claire didn't reply audibly to her teacher's question, but she did turn after a second to look at him. He was caught off-guard by the discomfort and sorrow that was hindering her expression. It was the clearest answer she could have possibly given.

Melendez held the stare for a split second, saying nothing. His face stayed completely blank. Eventually he did tear his gaze away from her, and he cleared his throat, moving on and addressing all of them again. "Which one of you is going to give me the run-down on the patient?" he asked, bypassing the situation altogether and just skipping forward. Morgan's face fell a little, in uncertainty. She looked like she wanted to interject. Thankfully, she didn't have the chance to, before Park was delving into the details of their case. Before it was fully left behind, and there was no sense in doubling back for it.

Melendez never called Shaun to yell at him for not showing up.

He came to work the next day, but he was missing again the day after.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"How much money would you give me to jump off this and land down in the lobby?" Jared mused.

Claire scoffed, leaning out over the railing and looking down at the floor below. She rolled her eyes when she leaned back. "I wouldn't have to pay you," she replied. "You wouldn't make it. Or my twenty dollars would go into your medical bill." The three of them were standing together, taking a moment's rest and just watching the people mill about downstairs. Shaun was a silent witness to their banter; he was just staring down, his expression blank and thoughtful at the same time. He looked like he hadn't slept all week. He had hardly said more than ten words all day. Still, Claire tried to keep her voice as light as possible. "You only have two weeks left here, don't end it by making a mess all over the floor. Possibly landing on a couple people."

"That's why I have to do it!" Jared objected. "I'm leaving soon, and I've always wanted to jump down there from here; the opportunity is never going to present itself again. You can't look a gift horse in the mouth." He blinked and frowned only for a moment when he looked over at Shaun. Before he smiled again and prompted: "What do you say, Shaun? I think it'd be worth it. Haven't you thought about it?"

Shaun only blinked slowly. He surveyed the drop but said nothing.

Claire saved it. As best she could. "Of course not," she dismissed. "He's too smart for that. You, on the other hand, have about three brain cells left. It's a tragedy. Denver better not get their hopes up, because you are one hot mess."

Jared flashed her a grin. "You're just upset because you're going to miss me!" he teased, and she immediately puffed up in objection. Shaun kept his eyes on those who were below. But his blank expression flickered, and his eyes began to grow misty. "Go on, admit it! You're going to miss me hanging around here— unless you prefer only having the company of the literal ray of sunshine is Morgan." Claire snorted and actually laughed at this. Jared did too. Shaun's eyes watered more. "I don't know, I think when you put my company next to hers, I'm a little more tolerable. Then again, you'll still have Park. He can keep telling you all his cop stories, and you can keep pretending to be interested," he snickered.

"You're really mean!" she snapped, but her words were riddled with giggles. "Be nicer!"

"I've been mean my entire life, and you want me to stop now?" he demanded. "C'mon Claire, let's be realistic."

"I'll be perfectly fine having only Shaun for good company," Claire reassured. "It'll be a million times better when you leave. Much more relaxing, right Sh—?" She turned to nudge him and hopefully bring him into the conversation. But when she turned, she realized with a jolt that he wasn't standing beside her anymore. He was walking away quickly, his shoulders rigid. Her face fell. "Shaun?" she asked. Jared pushed off the railing as well, his eyebrows pulling together. "Shaun!" she yelled, but it was no use. He kept walking. In a few sparse seconds, he'd already turned the corner.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"And why do we do that?" Melendez prompted.

There was a tiny gap, and in that pause, his eyes went to Shaun. He was very clearly waiting for the enthusiastic bubble of information that was always coming from his resident when there was a question. Usually he was the first one to answer— save for Morgan, who only answered in such a quick and instant way because she knew Shaun often did. But his youngest resident didn't even try to answer his question. He only waited through it, listening with the same amount of eagerness a senior in college would in an eight am. Melendez wasn't sure he'd ever seen Shaun not excited to do something. Now, that was all he was. Unfazed. Unimpressed. Unwilling.

Claire was staring at Shaun just as much as Melendez was.

Morgan answered. "To reduce the risk of infection later on down the road," she replied.

Melendez blinked a few times before he shifted his stare over to her. He gave her a curt nod. "Right. Why don't you and Park go and see what the lab has to say about the sample, in the meantime? Claire, Jared, I want you two to make sure we have that consent. So we can stop talking about the surgery and actually start doing it." They all nodded at their instructions and started to split up. However, Melendez cleared his throat, and they hesitated for a second, even though he was clearly turning to look back at the youngest of the group. Mostly it was just habit, for them. "Shaun, how would you like to be my second?"

Morgan straightened, her eyebrows knitting.

Claire couldn't hide the smile that wormed over her face.

Shaun looked up, rousing at this. He blinked a few times, like he wasn't sure what it even meant.

Morgan spoke up before he could. "Sir, can I ask why—?"

"I would rather you didn't, Reznick." The snap was instantaneous, and it was so quick to anger, that even Claire seemed more surprised than pleased. Their attending flashed the blonde a frosty look, silently warning her to stop in her tracks.

She blinked fast a couple of times, and for a moment it seemed like she was going to let it drop. It was what the smarter thing to do was, anyway. But then she shook her head and straightened more. Claire and Jared both sent her withering glares; given the situation, they weren't that concerned about keeping cordial. Especially Jared, whose days were numbered. His eyes practically flooded with rage when she disregarded Melendez. "Shaun hasn't been here nearly as much as any of us have," she objected, and their attending's jaw locked backwards. "He missed three days last week, and he was late coming in this morning. Why are you rewarding that behavior?"

"He's not a toddler, there's no 'rewarding' needed!" Claire snapped before Melendez could speak. "Melendez offers the second position to who deserves it the most, are you saying he's not capable of making that decision himself?"

"I'm saying it's unfair to the students who are actually working, to be on suction while someone who is hardly here—"

"Shut up, Morgan!" Jared exploded. He took a step forward, and Claire's hand shot out to hold him back. Not that it was needed of course, but it was just second nature. "Shaun could miss every single day of work and he'd still be a better surgeon than you are!"

She flared, clearly offended. "Is that the goal of all this, then?" she asked tartly, beginning to lose her own temper. "Because he certainly almost missed every day last week."

"You know what, you can just stop," Claire growled, her eyes narrowing. "No, we let you say a ton of mean things, but I'm drawing the line now. Don't you dare insult Shaun— not now, not ever."

"I'm not insulting him, I'm making a point to say what nobody else has so far," she returned. "Shaun hasn't been contributing his time and his energy to this team, so he should get an equal role in it. He hasn't been here with patients, he hasn't helped us with cases— this program is meant to find out which of us are competent and capable enough to become surgeons. It's not meant as a…a hand-out to those who come and go when they feel like it; that's insulting to us and what this teaching hospital stands for."

Silence followed this.

Shaun was staring into space, like he wasn't even aware that this argument was taking place. But Claire could see by the sheen in his eyes and the tight clasp of his hands that that wasn't the case at all.

Melendez glared at Morgan, who deflated the longer she was underneath the stare. "I don't need you to tell me what my program is for," he said slowly, after a moment. His voice was measured and stiff; the way it got whenever he was trying to keep calm. He was angry. He was trying to keep himself in check, and he was doing a good job of it, but Claire had known Melendez for quite some time, and she could recognize the fact. Morgan wilted, but he wasn't done. "I chose Shaun as a second because he's done a surgery like this with me before, and Claire was second that time. I was giving him the chance to show what he remembered from it. Not that I ever have to explain myself to you, given that you are a student, and I am the teacher." He raised his eyebrows. "Do I make myself clear?"

She hesitated. Her eyes flickered from Shaun, still staring off, back to her instructor. Eventually, she muttered a soft: "Yes, sir."

"Good," he growled. "Then go with Park. Unless you want to fight with me about that, too." She didn't. Quickly, her lips pursed, the blonde whirled around on her toe and made her way briskly towards the lab. Park, a silent observer this entire time, only ducked his head and followed. Melendez watched them go, and his expression lost a bit of its fire as he did. He let out a slow sigh and started to turn for the other two, to remind them about getting the consent. They'd gotten sidetracked, there; he had to get them all back in line. When he was interrupted.

"I don't want to second," Shaun announced quietly.

Melendez turned, looking at him like he'd just declared he killed off the entire country of Russia. Because that line would make just as much sense coming from him as this one did. "What?" he demanded, more incredulous than angry. Shaun didn't reply. His eyes just flickered down to the floor. Claire and Jared both looked at their friend in mounting despair. "Shaun, you would do fine as a second," Melendez offered, taking a shot in the dark at where the hesitation was stemming from. "You—"

"You should give it to someone else," Shaun murmured. "Someone who has been here."

He stared at him, and he started to shake his head. He lowered his voice, as if it was some sort of secret. "Shaun…everyone…is allowed a period of grieving," he began, a little awkwardly. Melendez was never one to coddle, or comfort. The fact he was trying now, somehow made Claire feel even less at ease. "You can't be blamed for being upset…Glassman was—"

"You should give it to someone else," Shaun repeated, louder this time.

Melendez blinked, cutting himself off. He looked like he was at a loss of what to do. He stared at his resident, like he wanted to fight him. But there wasn't a fight to be had. There wasn't any fight left in Shaun at all; he was resolute. It crossed the man's mind to just force him to take the position. After all, he was the one in charge. What he said, went. But somehow, looking at him and the expression on his face, Melendez found that he didn't have the heart to. It all died on his tongue. And he just turned to Claire to say a little hollowly: "You'll be my second, then."

Claire drooped. She glanced at Shaun sadly, but he wasn't looking at her. He wasn't looking at any of them.

She didn't have a choice. She just sighed and offered a small, "Alright."

Shaun wasn't at work the next day.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Let's go out!" Claire suggested brightly. The smile on her face was too big. Too happy. Too forced.

"I don't want to," Shaun responded immediately. Not even a second was used to consider the prospect. She wilted in disappointment. Shaun must have registered the deflation, because he did stop long enough to say: "You can go out. You don't have to be here."

"I want to be here," she assured.

"No, you don't."

They were sitting in Shaun's apartment, not doing much of anything. Claire had practically invited herself over. Usually she wasn't one to do that. She grew up understanding that intruding was rude, and should never be done. But worry tended to do that to you: make you throw your morals out the window. Her concerns outweighed her need to be polite. At Shaun's objection, her smile wilted just the tiniest fraction. But she stayed resolute. "Of course I do," she pressed. "I just think it would be nice for you to get out of here for a little bit." She glanced around at the small apartment, frowning at the drawn blinds and the messed-up bed. It was dark and depressing in here. Shaun needed to get out. "We could call Jared!" she offered. "He's leaving at the end of the week for Denver, we're not going to be able to—"

"You can go out," he repeated, looking off to the side. "I don't want to."

She hesitated, trying to search his face. "Shaun…I'm worried about you," she said eventually. His eyes flashed, and he tucked tighter into himself. "You're worrying me," she repeated. "You've been missing work, you hardly ever talk anymore, you look like you haven't slept…is there even any food in here?" She hadn't looked in his fridge; the opportunity never presented itself. But she had little to no doubt in her mind that if she did, her search would come up empty. Shaun's only response to her accusations was silence. She took a deeper breath and tried to continue. "I…I know Glassman was important to you, Shaun, but you have to know that this is an unhealthy—"

"I don't want to talk about this," he declared.

She frowned, pursing her lips. "You have to, Shaun," she tried. She lightened her voice, struggling to speak to him in a way he would understand. There was always a bit of a barrier, but now, his sadness and grief were making it more like a cement wall that was a foot thick. "Shaun, you're a doctor; you have to understand what's going on. You have to know the implications, you have to know how unhealthy it is that you're dealing with your grief this way. I know it's difficult, I know it's hard, and I wouldn't ever say that you don't have the right to be upset, but…you have to talk to someone." Her voice was strained and worn. She found herself leaning forward a little more, to try and beg more of his attention. "There are plenty of people you can speak to at the hospital, it would be completely free, you can maybe get some of this out instead of just walking around with it, or—"

"I don't want to talk to anyone," he replied. "I don't want a therapist."

"But I think at this point you need one, Shaun," she managed weakly. "And there's a difference. A really big one."

"There's no point," he insisted. "Whether I talk to someone or not is irrelevant, Doctor Glassman will still be dead." This was all said very bluntly. But like it hurt to come out. His eyes were shinier than normal, or maybe that was just the new normal, because Claire had certainly seen them tearful more often than she hadn't, these days. The thought was enough to set her skin crawling, and reassure her that she was in the right, here. That even though it didn't feel like it, she was the good person in this situation.

"Shaun…you have to think logically; I'm asking you to think logically here," she pressed on. He fidgeted, and she could tell he was losing his patience. She knew he was trying to block her out; she just kept going. "I know it's a hard situation to, but you need to, okay?" She shook her head. "Melendez is batting for you, and he's trying his best to make sure that you get to keep your residency, because he understands. But Shaun…he can't cover for you for much longer. He can't keep making excuses, and my worst fear is that—"

Shaun kept looking away. His expression was just as blank, but his eyes teared more.

She sighed. "My worst fear is that you'll get fired. That you'll lose so much more than just Glassman." She shook her head. "He wanted so much more for you, Shaun, I know he did. If he could see you now, he would be so—"

"He can't." Shaun cut her off with enough ice in his voice to turn her blood cold. He looked at her now, but she really wished he wouldn't. She didn't recognize the look on his face. It was foreign. It wasn't Shaun; it wasn't him. She didn't even know who it was. "He can't see me because he's dead. There's no point." The words fell like each one weighed a million pounds. Each of them was hard and dull at the same time.

Cynical.

Shaun Murphy was never cynical.

It took her breath away. She sat there stupidly, just staring at him.

He looked away after a heartbeat. Maybe because he regretted snapping. Maybe because he was just sick of looking at her same expression. Whatever the reason, he did. And softly, he murmured: "You should go."

"What?" she asked, stupidly again.

Shaun didn't repeat it. But he didn't have to.

She glanced down at the table, to try and hide the fact her eyes were stinging. She cleared her throat and tried to make her voice even. "Okay," she whispered. Shaun still didn't turn to her. "I'll…see you at work, tomorrow, then." Though she knew that it was a fifty-fifty chance on whether she actually would. She sat there for a moment more, that felt more like fifteen years. Eventually, she scooted her chair away from the table, trying to ignore how loud it squeaked when she did. She stood and made for her bag which she'd put down by Shaun's dresser. The apartment was completely silent, and Shaun was staring fixedly out the window. It was raining outside. The drops sounded too loud. She knew they would be his only company when she left.

She picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder. She started to rise and maybe try to apologize or at least attempt to make things right before she left. When suddenly, she stopped, something catching her eye. She'd driven Shaun home tonight in the first place, and she had seen him put his key down on top of the dresser the second they got inside. She figured it was a ritual— he was full of those, and she could just imagine him putting it down in the same place when he got home every night. But sitting right beside the key was something she hadn't noticed before.

Another one.

A spare key, and of course he would have one. It wasn't like Shaun not to have a spare of something. He had two phone chargers in his backpack one day, for some reason she never even found out. Now, she saw the two keys sitting side by side, completely identical. She hesitated, freezing in place. Her eyes flickered over to her friend; he was still staring out the window. He hadn't noticed her stall, and he likely wouldn't for the next couple of seconds. But still, she didn't move. She felt wrong. She wanted to do it, but she knew she didn't have the right. She knew at some point – if not immediately – he would figure out and ask her what she'd been thinking.

She almost turned away and left.

But worry threw her morals out the window.

As she straightened up the rest of the way, she reached out and took the spare key. Rushing now, just in case he saw, she made for the door and called out one last goodbye. Shaun didn't react to it, and she really didn't expect him to. She left without any surprise, her chest feeling empty and hollow. And the key to his apartment feeling like a hundred-pound weight in her pocket.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Do you think if you broke your Crock-Pot, it would be more accurate to call it a Crack-Pot?"

Claire sighed airily, staring up at the ceiling. "It's questions like these that make me so glad you're leaving in four days," she announced, and Jared only snickered. She smiled too, a little sadly, because their time was drawing to a close. But her expression was still affectionate as she picked her head back up and grinned. "Though I will miss the philosophical element you bring to every day," she mused.

His eyebrows rose. "You think a Crock-Pot is philosophical?" he asked. He made a 'tsk' noise, shaking his head. "That's very sad, Claire. Very sad indeed."

"I like to be satisfied with the little things in life," she defended. "Haven't you ever heard of the phrase 'it's a nickel holding up a dollar?'"

He snorted. "No. What, is that when you stack a bunch of nickels up and balance a dollar on it?"

She huffed. "No. It means it's cheaper to invest in something along the way…like, if your car breaks down— it would have been cheaper to put more oil in it beforehand and help the engine, so it wouldn't need any fixing, but since you didn't, and you waited, now you have to replace the whole engine. You could have bought that oil cheaper, to have a better thing in the long run. So it's nickels that are holding up the dollar. But it basically means that the little stuff is more important than the big stuff. So…you could think of it as life being the whole dollar, and little moments as the nickels. If you don't look at the little moments and keep them, then the dollar is worth less in the long run. It's gonna end up costing you more if you just looked at the dollar and not the little nickels." She paused, looking thoughtful. Before she asked: "Does that make sense?"

"No," Jared replied at once, and she scowled at him. "Because with five dollars I can buy a milkshake at a drive-thru, and with five nickels, I'd probably only be able to afford a ketchup packet, so…which one is worth more?" He smirked, to show he was only kidding, and meant no harm.

Still, she blew out her cheeks. "You're the worst. I'm trying to impart a lesson."

"It's a good thing you never became a teacher then," Jared returned. He grinned even more at her huff, and he turned towards Shaun, reaching out to begin to nudge him. "Right, Sh—?" He broke off, blinking a couple times as his arm froze mid-reach. He frowned, gradually bringing it back down to his side. Shaun was hunched over; his head was resting on top of the table. They'd only just sat down about five minutes ago; Claire and Jared had wanted a coffee pick-me-up, and Shaun had just followed silently because he didn't have anything else to do. They'd been talking so much, and Shaun had been so quiet, that he had completely slipped their minds. Now they looked back at him and realized why.

He was sleeping. So deep asleep that he didn't even hear their laughter. Claire weakened, staring at her friend sorrowfully. He looked like he was sick. Pale, and tired, and even a little skinnier. He was still sporting shadows under his eyes. And the way he was breathing so deeply after such a short amount of time for rest made it clear he wasn't sleeping much, still. The two stared at their friend in silence, neither of them sure what to say. Eventually, Jared broke the quiet. His voice was soft, and hardly above a murmur. His eyes stayed trained on Shaun, even as he spoke to Claire. "I'm scared to leave."

It took her a moment to understand. She shook her head once. "Don't be," she whispered, though Shaun looked like he wouldn't wake up even if she got on top of the table and jumped up and down. "He'll be fine." She wished she sounded surer. "It's just been hard for him recently. He'll come back around." She tried to draft a smile on her face. "He's Shaun," she stated simply, like that would be enough.

"He's only gotten worse," Jared hissed. "Glassman meant so much to him…"

Claire's heart twisted painfully. She had difficulty breathing against it. All the same, she tried to put on a better front. "So do we," she matched. "We mean a lot to him, too. So…it's fine." Her words needed to be strong, but they came out weaker than she'd wanted them to. More unsure. She shook her head once, staring at her friend as if he would be able to give her some kind of sign or reassurance that she wasn't way off. But he was still sleeping. Oblivious to their conversation entirely. "It's going to be fine," she continued. "There's no need to worry."

She tried not to notice that, asleep, Shaun looked the happiest he'd been in ages.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Browne!"

She jerked into attention at the call, her head snapping up as she tore her gaze away from the floor. Her mind had wandered, for about the fiftieth time today. The look on Melendez's face immediately made her feel more than guilty, and she deflated. Her apparent stress didn't seem to do very much for him. He just raised his eyebrows and asked a little thinly: "Has he replied, or not?"

She looked down at her phone, to the text message she had sent five minutes ago. Her third one in the past hour, asking Shaun whether or not he was still feeling too sick to come into work. A barely-concealed question, because everyone was wise enough to know that he wasn't ill. Not physically. But still, the screen was filled with only her texts. She shook her head once, her stomach clenching. She tried not to notice how Melendez reacted immediately. The clash of personal worry and professional frustration that clouded over his face. He opened his mouth then closed it quickly, opening it again, like he wasn't sure what to say. He shook his head and turned aside, his stare heavy. He grumbled privately under his breath, but Claire picked it up anyway. "What does he want from me…?"

She couldn't stop herself. Knowing it was unwise, she defended: "Residents are allowed to miss a month of work in total." He looked back at her, and though she stuttered just a bit, she kept going. "He…hasn't run out of days yet." Because she had been counting. She'd started keeping track after her friend had missed his fourth day.

Melendez scowled. "No, he's just run out of half of them."

She tried to figure out something to say— some way to defend him. She couldn't, and just closed her mouth uncertainly. She tucked her phone away in her pocket, knowing she wouldn't get a response. She never did, anymore. None of them did. Still, her nerves were on-edge. What was he doing instead of work? Was he just lying in bed, staring at a wall? Was that what he did every day he was gone? Did he sit alone for twenty-four hours, with nobody to talk to? At least if he came in, he might not feel so isolated. Unless that isolation was what he was looking for. And even then, Claire didn't think it was really what he wanted.

Her thoughts were broken when Melendez just sighed. "You and Kalu can go get something for lunch," he offered, and she blinked, her forehead creasing when she looked up. "Reznick and Park are being assigned to another case, but it's not big enough for four at once. You two would get in the way. So, unless something comes up, the two of you will be on scutwork." She deflated even more. He ignored her. "Keep your pager on you. I'll call you when I need you. Until then, just take lunch and then…make yourself useful somewhere."

"Okay," she said simply. She saw Jared heading down the hall towards her. It was his second-to-last day here. The thought of getting lunch was bittersweet. But it was only worse when she wished they were able to eat with Shaun, too. The three of them should be able to say goodbye properly, especially with everything going on. They were missing him, now. It wouldn't be the same. The unknown feeling of dread and odd apprehension in her gut was only getting worse. She tried to ignore it.

"Claire." She turned back to her attending, a little surprised by the use of her first name. But once she did turn, she was more surprised by the look that was on his face. He was staring at her steadily, silently asking her to listen and listen closely. She did. "You…" He was obviously trying to figure out the best way to say this. Her anxiety only grew tenfold. But it was nothing compared to how she felt when he finally got out: "You…know him the best. Now." She blinked rapidly, caught off-guard. "Now that Glassman is gone…you're the only other person that really…"

She hadn't thought about it like that. Jared was close with him, too. Though certainly…not like…

She said nothing, too shocked to. Melendez continued. "Just…help." He lowered his voice just a little bit. "Let's fix this before he runs out of sick days. Before Andrews has something he can use against him." Still, she didn't know what to say. But apparently he wasn't looking for anything. He just nodded at her once the words seemed to sink in and headed wherever Morgan and Alex must have gotten off to. He left her standing there dumbly, staring after him like she'd never been in this hospital before, and had no idea where to go.

Jared glanced at Melendez as they passed by each other and frowned a bit. His frown only grew more severe when he caught up to Claire. "Hey, what's wrong?" She looked down at the ground, blinking a few times before she got her phone out again. There still wasn't a text. "What did Melendez say?" he pressed. Claire didn't reply, only resolving to call Shaun directly as she raised her mobile up to her ear. Jared watched her with an odd and skeptical look, but just shoved his hands into his pockets and waited. She waited too, for Shaun to hopefully, maybe, pick up for once. But she ended up with a voicemail, and she lowered her device fast in disappointment.

"Shaun's not in again," she commented softly.

Jared wilted. "It's not…really a surprise," he said, disappointment layering every word. Claire's shoulders hunched. "I tried texting him earlier," her friend admitted. "Not even about work…I asked him if he wanted to go out one last time before I left. He never replied to that, either. That was…a couple hours ago?" It was a little past 9:30, now. He sighed. "I guess he just needs more time." Claire didn't react; she just stared ahead in silence. Her stomach was still cramping with nerves. For some reason, it wouldn't go away. Jared hesitated before he asked: "What now?"

He most likely meant what to do for lunch.

But Claire straightened. She twisted back and reached into her other pocket, to produce her wallet. Jared watched in silence as she unzipped it and wriggled out the key she had stored inside. Shaun's spare key. He hadn't called her out yet on taking it. Maybe he never noticed, maybe he didn't care— either of which were red flags. But that was what all it was anymore: red flags. For what felt like forever, they'd been turning a blind eye to every warning sign, every difficulty, every withdraw. She was sick of pretending that her entire vision wasn't obscured with red by this point. They couldn't keep doing it. Shaun couldn't keep doing it.

She held up the key. "We go get Shaun."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Melendez is going to be pissed."

"Melendez is always pissed," Claire huffed as they stepped out of the elevator. "It won't make a difference. We're just trying to help. He asked me to make sure Shaun was okay and to get him back before Andrews started breathing down his neck— that's what we're doing." It was stated very simply, though she knew it wasn't nearly as cut and dry. "He said himself he wouldn't need us for a while. But Shaun needs us now." This came out confident. The only aspect of this she was confident in. She didn't know how he would react, or how Melendez would react, or if they would get in trouble. But she knew, at the core of it all, that their friend did need them. That they couldn't be considered his friends if they just let him rot away like he has been.

Jared blew out a small sigh. "Okay…but if he asks, it was my idea." She glanced at him as they came to a stop in front of Shaun's door. He met her surprise with a shrug. "There's no sense in you getting in trouble when I'm leaving anyway. It's not like they can look down on me even more, right?" he teased.

She softened and grinned. "I'm going to miss you," she found herself confessing.

He seemed surprised for a second, before he cracked a grin. "Damn, wish I'd gotten that on recording," he snickered. She rolled her eyes and looked back front. Thankfully, he got the message and moved away from the sappy stuff for now. "Okay, well— knock first," he offered. "Before we go barging into his house, at least let him have the chance to take us."

She figured he was right. She leaned out and knocked.

Nothing.

She tried again, and still they got no response.

"You think he's out?" Jared asked in a mutter. "He doesn't drive, we can't check for a car. But…he could be out visiting Glassman's grave. Or— who knows, maybe he's booking it to work right now." They both could tell that there was a certain kind of strained hope in his voice. That such a thing was too good to be true. That he didn't really believe it, even as the words were leaving his mouth.

Claire wanted nothing more than for it to be the case. But she was logical. So she stepped forward with a small shake of her head, and she started to unlock the door herself. "Better to be safe, rather than sorry," she exhaled, and Jared couldn't fight her. She unlocked the door and they invited themselves in, fully anticipating Shaun to whirl around at their intrusion and snap at them to leave. Or at the very least ask how the heck they got in. But silence met their entrance. Stepping inside and looking around, Claire couldn't even see him anywhere.

She frowned, her unease multiplying, and growing heavier. The place was clean. Cleaner than when she'd last seen it, when she'd swiped his key in the first place. Books weren't strewn on the ground, and his bed was made. Claire regarded this change in trace confusion. Maybe…he was doing better? Maybe he really was on his way to work? "Shaun?" she called out, a little reluctantly. She kept an ear out, but they were still coming up empty. She headed forward to see whether or not he was outside. Maybe he ventured out there because it was so nice out today?

Jared looked around a little aimlessly, before he turned and started making for the other side of the apartment. Last ditch and probably uncalled for resort: check the bathroom. Claire opened the glass door and looked around the small patio area. "Shaun?" she asked again. He wasn't there. She heard Jared calling for him, and knocking. She ducked back inside and went to rejoin him. He was standing in front of the bathroom door. Claire made a face when she realized he was trying the doorknob.

It wouldn't budge. It was locked.

"Shaun, are you in there?" he asked. Claire came to a stop beside him, puzzled and now awkward. Jared ducked his head a bit, to look down at the floor. His hands went up to his hips. "Shaun, I know this is weird, but we just came by to check on you; you're in there, right?" More silence. Jared frowned and picked his head back up. "Look, we just want to make sure you're okay. You're missing work again. Are you sick?"

Nada.

Claire cleared her throat and tried her hand. "Shaun, we understand if you're upset; you have every right to be. If you— if you want to be alone and you want us to leave, we will, just come out for a second? And just hear us out for like five minutes." She waited, tense. And her shoulders only grew stiffer when they still received nothing. Jared's eyes were slowly narrowing. His expression was beginning to change. Claire tried again. "We might be going overboard, but you're our friend, Shaun, we care about you. A lot. That's why we're doing this— we cut work, Melendez doesn't know we're here." She weakened in desperation. "Just come out. He's not angry with you…you can come back with us. We can all go back together. It'll be fine, I promise."

He was still ignoring them.

Jared reached down and started trying the doorknob again. Claire looked at him strangely as he started to use more force, yanking and pushing on the wood with his entire weight. She remembered Melendez's words: 'You're the only person that really…' "Shaun, come out and we can just talk about this whole thing!" She was smiling, though she knew he wouldn't see through the wall. "I know it's hard to lose someone you love…and I know how much you loved him. But everything else doesn't have to end. You can move on from this— and we can help you! That's what friends are for! And we're your best friends! Me and Jared!"

Jared turned and shoved his shoulder hard against the door.

Claire glared at him. "Don't break it down," she hissed. "You're going to freak him out!"

"No, we need to get this door open." She was taken aback by how tense his voice suddenly was. He rammed his shoulder against it again. Her eyes widened as she looked from her friend to door as the dots slowly connected. Jared started yelling. "Shaun, unlock this door!" he snapped, Claire whirling back to him. When nothing happened still, Jared yelled louder: "Shaun, if you don't unlock this door, I'm breaking it down! Just unlock it! Come on!"

"Jared, what are you doing?" Claire demanded. She tried to push him back. Her expression was pained. "We're trying to get him to listen to us, not—!"

"Shaun, open the door!" Jared screamed. Claire jerked backwards, her heart in her throat when still nothing happened. Jared shook his head and shouldered her hard out of the way. She stumbled backwards, yelping in surprise, but he didn't spare her a second glance. He only grabbed the doorknob again and rammed hard against it a few more times. The more he did, getting no response each time, the more frantic he got. "Shaun, open the door!" he repeated. Claire watched, rendered motionless and silent. Abject horror was writing itself across her face now, slowly but surely. "Shaun, I'm giving you five more seconds!" Jared snapped.

The time frame dragged like molasses. Claire's hands were creeping up to cover her mouth. Jared kept his ear by the door, listening for anything at all. Once five seconds turned to six, he shook his head once, tensely. He took a few steps back, his jaw locking. Claire started to try and object again— to plead for a little bit more rational a negotiation first, but Jared was already kicking out. He lifted one foot and shoved it hard merely inches from the knob. Claire flinched away from the harsh thud that resulted. When she looked back, she saw it wasn't quite down yet. Jared took the couple steps back again, and she tried to reach out and intervene. "Wait, st—!"

It was too late; Jared kicked out again in the same way, with more force this time, and the door gave way underneath. She cringed as it was forced open, flying inward against its will. Jared staggered a little but managed to catch himself. And the moment he was able to look inside the bathroom, his eyes flew wide. His expression froze in complete terror and shock. Claire's hands yanked back down to her sides and she staggered to meet him— to see what had winded him so much.

She didn't see, at first; Jared was in the way. She had the suspicion, she had the fear, so small and slow to dawn in the first place just because she knew Shaun— because she knew his smile and his bubbly personality and his strive to become a surgeon. She'd started to fear it the second she realized the door was locked and there was no voice on the other side. She just hadn't wanted to acknowledge the very implication that this could be happening. Until she skidded to a stop at Jared's side and saw what he had seen. Until her hands flew once more to her mouth, and her eyes stretched wide. Until a thoughtless, strangled scream ripped its way out of her. Until her knees almost buckled and caused her to fall right then and there.

Until there was no question on what had happened.

Shaun was lying on the floor of the bathtub. There was no water— he was fully clothed. He was flat on his back, though at some point his head must have fallen slack to the side. Vomit stained down the side of his face and was pooling on the porcelain. He was pale, and even after all their yelling and knocking, even as Claire screamed right over him, he didn't react. His eyes didn't even flicker. Jared was spitting every curse word known to man as he snapped himself into action first. He leaned down, shaking his head fast. "What did he take, what did he take?" he demanded. Claire's eyes were flooding with tears; they were already rushing down her face. Jared's head snapped over to her and he screamed: "Claire, look for what he took!"

She jerked, all but falling into motion as she whirled around to try and see. Her mind was too blank, her heart was hammering too much. Nothing made sense. Jared checked Shaun's pulse; with his other hand he started to smack his cheek. "Shaun, wake up!" he yelled, his voice a mix of absolutely furious and completely terrified. It would rip open anyone's heart, to hear. "Shaun!" Claire's eyes caught on the sink, and her breath caught. She rushed forward, nearly stumbling over Jared, and she grabbed up the bottles she saw there. Her hands were shaking when she lifted them up; she could hardly slow down enough to make sense of the labels.

"Ibuprofen and aspirin! They're both empty!" she gasped. Jared looked up only briefly, to see. He cursed again, louder this time, before he turned back at Shaun. Claire looked down at the containers, nearly hyperventilating. They were empty— had he taken them all? Had there already been some missing? When had he taken them!? How long had he been laying here!? How long was this a plan!? Was it even a plan!? Did he know!? She saw him yesterday!

"Oh my God oh my God oh my God—" She couldn't keep the words from falling out. Senseless and sobbing, Claire looked back at the sink, the empty pill bottles falling from her hands. A piece of paper had been resting underneath them up until this point. She snatched it up; it shook like a leaf in her grip. It was notes— most of it was just notes— 'Recommended adult dosage: 3,200 mg a day, divided between four tablets every four hours. Lethal dose above 636 mg/kg. 200 mg/per tablet – (200x200) = 40,000 mg.' She choked, shaking her head fast. It was a dream, this wasn't real, it couldn't be real. 'Ibuprofen-Aspirin interaction = increase in severer side effects. Recommended adult dosage—'

It was notes. Like a science course, it was all laid out like notes. Careful thought, careful calculations— how long had he sat there measuring it all out? Hectic and added-in, like bursts of consciousness, were other things. Tiny notes and thoughts that never got nearly as far as his measurements did. Some were tiny, like they were trying to hide. Others were crossed or scratched out. 'I can't be a doctor' had a thick black line through it, 'It would be better' was nearly too scribbled to make out, 'I miss them' was almost too small to see. Every tiny scrap of Shaun – of actually him, among those numbers and notes and cold facts – made her breathing hitch and escalate even more.

Her head snapped back up. She was holding so tightly to the paper she was nearly ripping it in two. "He tried to kill himself!" The statement was obvious, but she screamed it anyway, sobs puncturing every syllable. This wasn't happening, it couldn't be true. Shaun was happy ("Haha! No they don't!"), he was optimistic ("We saved a life today. Just not Chuck's."), he was kind ("Claire, you're beautiful, smart, and very good at your job."). Something like this just couldn't happen, it just wasn't happening! Jared was stooping down low, worming his arms underneath Shaun. He was still cursing— he didn't bat at eye at Claire's screech. Not right now. She yelled it again anyway, bordering on hysteria. "He tried to kill himself, he wanted to kill himself, he—"

"Claire!" Jared screamed. He stood up now, Shaun cradled tightly in his arms. Someone had to be in control in this situation; he had to take the role as best he could if she couldn't. He looked at her hard as she was rendered mute; she stared at Shaun in complete shock, numbness beginning to replace her fear. "Get my keys out of my pocket!" Jared snapped. She just stared. "Claire!" The yell was loud enough to rouse her. "Get my keys and get the car! Now! We don't have time! Get the car!" She shook her head fast to clear it and ducked forward. She swiped his keys and stumbled, spinning around to the door. "Get the car, get the car, get the fucking car!" Jared snapped over and over again, and though she didn't want to leave Shaun, she knew she didn't have a choice.

She took off sprinting— out of Shaun's bathroom, out of his apartment, down the hall and for the stairs. She took them two at a time and nearly fell twice. She left Jared behind quickly— he was still pleading with Shaun to wake up or struggling to get any reaction out of him. Still cursing when nothing resulted. Once she did, she stopped trying to bottle back her sobs. She cried as she rushed down the stairs and burst outside. She cried as she struggled to remember where they'd parked in her haze, and she sobbed as she fumbled with the keys to get it open.

She remembered how many days she had noticed Shaun's morose and exhausted expression. How often she had consciously thought that he wasn't his normal self, and how she knew it only got worse and worse over time. She remembered how she left him after the funeral. She had fucking left him. How could she have done that? How could she have watched him leave work knowing for a fact he hadn't eaten anything their entire shift and knowing he might not come in the next day? How had she seen his watering eyes and said nothing? How had she stood by this entire time and watched her friend wither away and not done a single thing about it?

She got the car to start and practically floored it to the front of the building. Just in time, as Jared shoved his way out the door, still holding to Shaun like a lifeline. She leaned back and opened the door for him, and Jared practically fell into the backseat, fumbling to arrange Shaun so that he was more on his side, should he vomit more. "Drive, drive, drive!" Jared pleaded, and now that there was nothing left to do, his voice was beginning to splinter and break. His expression was beginning to become stricken all over again as he looked at his friend, laying limp across the car bench. Claire complied, yanking herself back around and flooring it again.

They needed to get to help. They needed to get to Saint Bonaventure.

This was all their fault. It was all her fault. Something should have been done a long time ago. Even if Shaun didn't want it— even if they had to drag him kicking and screaming, they should have gotten him help. They should have been his help. They should have known better. Though it wasn't spoken in the moment, it was clearly both understood by them.

They were helping now. Claire was driving, and Jared was holding tight to him, checking his breathing and begging him to open his eyes. They were helping now, but it was too late. It was too late, they were too late.

And that was the only thought that went through her head as she weaved in and out of lanes around slower-moving cars.

They were too late.

This was all their fault.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus concludes With a Little Luck. Thank you very much for reading and leaving me your thoughts <3  
> I hope I did this chapter the justice it deserved, it's a rather long one to try and get everything important in. I hope I got most of the typos out of it, too, but I always seem to miss two or three, so I apologize if there are still some lingering ones. I would be more than happy to fix them, along with anything else that might be amiss in this chapter. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this last installment, and that you've enjoyed this tiny story.
> 
> 'I'm sleeping more, and eating again. I'm starting over like a factory town. And you always build it better, the second time around.' - Build it Better, Aaron Wright

It was early, and it was a Monday.

If things were different, he would have left for Saint Bonaventure fifteen minutes ago. He would have caught the bus an hour early and instead of heading up the steps for his locker, he would have veered straight for the cafeteria. He would have waited there maybe, for five or ten minutes. He wouldn't have minded. Because sooner or later, he would have seen Glassman walking through the doors, and they would have met up for breakfast. They would have eaten pancakes together, and they would have talked about anything and everything while they did, to pass the time. They would have started the day off perfectly.

They would have done all of that. Because they did. Like clockwork, every Monday, they did. Always.

But things weren't different.

They were the same.

It was early, it was a Monday, and Shaun was alone.

He was standing in the center of his apartment, staring like he had been for the past hour. Maybe the stall could be blamed on how tired he was…he'd woken up at two in the morning and had been unable to fall back asleep. He'd gone from trying, to giving up and staring at the ceiling, to finally just giving in. Standing. Moving. Planning. Doing. He was tired. He was tired, but he hadn't even tried to even entertain the possibility of going back to bed. He'd known he wouldn't be able to. He'd stood in this spot for ages, his expression bleary as he looked at everything around him.

He'd cleaned.

He hadn't done that in a while.

It looked nice.

The silence was loud and oppressive. He blinked and slowly looked down at the paper in his hands. He didn't read anything written, because he knew what was there. He'd memorized it, like he'd memorized every medical textbook he'd ever read, every test he'd ever taken and all its correct answers. Was that what this was? Was this paper the same as every test he had taken in college, and in medical school? Was all of this writing just as correct as those had been? Or were there flaws? Was it entirely wrong? Was there a way to tell?

Was there a point?

He stood there. Waiting. Staring at the paper but not seeing it. Then he turned, leaving the spotless living room and walking down the hall. He went to the bathroom, where he knew everything would be. He hesitated…again. He looked back and stared at the door for a while, before, moving agonizingly slow, he closed it and locked it. The tiny click seemed to echo and bounce off the walls. It rushed back and stabbed at his eardrums. He didn't know why he felt the need to lock it. Maybe it was for Kenny, in case he broke in again. Even though Shaun knew he wouldn't; ever since the night he had turned him away from hanging out with him and his friends, he hadn't so much as said hello. Shaun knew he wouldn't come in because he wanted nothing to do with him.

He locked it anyway.

He took his hand back to himself. He turned for the sink, and once he came to a stop, he looked up at himself in the mirror. He looked ill. He could see it all staring back at him. Not a reflection…only symptoms. Lack of sleep pronounced by shadows under the eyes. Pale skin and weight loss from malnutrition. But he already knew this. He knew all of it. He knew he couldn't sleep— he knew his nights were spent staring up at the darkened ceiling, too plagued by thoughts to close his eyes or even begin to relax. He knew he couldn't eat— he knew that swallowing food felt more like choking. That everything tasted bitter and bland, and that the tiniest of scraps were like million-pound weights in his stomach.

He knew all of these things, and yet he couldn't fix them. He'd taken melatonin and other medications…nothing had worked. He would still just lie there uselessly, and whenever he did sleep, he would jerk awake two or so hours afterwards. He'd forced himself to eat despite the pain it caused, and he'd tried to ignore the nausea that would always follow the smallest of meals. He'd tried to ignore the fact that every morning he woke up exhausted, not wanting to go to work because the halls reminded him of Glassman. That seeing Andrews as the new president was like a slap in the face and made him sick.

He forced himself to eat and sleep and go to work.

But sometimes he couldn't even do those things.

He was tired. And not just from the lack of sleep.

He looked down at the bathroom bag that rested on the sink. He gently placed the paper down on the other side and reached into the bag to retrieve the two bottles he'd stuffed there. He'd bought them separately. A week and two days after Glassman's funeral, he had woken up and had to rush to the bathroom to promptly vomit, barely making it to the toilet. That night he'd bought the bottle of Ibuprofen. The day Morgan had called him out in front of the rest of the team, he had gone out and bought the bottle of Aspirin. They'd been sitting here since then, waiting patiently.

In the meantime, he'd researched.

He was good at research.

The night he'd snapped at Claire to leave, he'd googled it all. It was when he first got out this paper he had now and started to map it out. To measure out the dosages and then up them. Double them, triple them, quadruple them, and so on. Whatever it took. He knew the facts— he wrote them all down, in a list. He was always good at making lists. Both medicines were in the class of nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs— they both had common side effects, and taking them together only multiplied them, and made them more severe. Taking too much of each together increased your risk for stomach bleeding, for allergic reactions, for swelling that could compress the trachea, for many other complications.

It was all written on the paper. He knew it by heart.

If it was a test for accuracy, there was no question. It would be 100% correct.

If it was a test for anything else…

He looked up from the bottles, back to himself. Back to the person comprised of symptoms and warning signs. That was all he was. He was an example in a textbook, a description on a written exam. For practically half his life, ever since Steve had fallen, he'd felt like half a person. Like something was missing. He'd found a purpose— Glassman had given him one. He'd found happiness he didn't think he'd be able to get anymore, and with his job at Saint Bonaventure, he'd begun to think everything would go right, for a change.

And then it fell out from underneath. He should have known. When it came to him, everything was too good to be true. Because of him, Glassman had lost his job. And now he was gone, and Shaun was completely alone. Jared was leaving for Colorado. The only thing Claire did now was stare at him like he was a sob story to gawk at. Melendez was disappointed he kept missing work, but no matter how much he tried he couldn't get himself out of bed most mornings— he couldn't get the covers off of him; they weighed too much. He couldn't stop anything that was happening. He couldn't.

He missed Steve.

He missed Glassman.

He opened the bottle.

He stared dully at the tiny dark pills of Ibuprofen. His eyes flickered over to the paper. He tipped the container over and watched a mound of the things spill out. And he carefully began to separate and count. Two-hundred would be enough. Coupled with thirty aspirin, that should do. A little more of both would be safer. Surer. The difficulty would be in getting them all down to begin with. He kept counting. Even though some part of him knew he would just take it all anyway. Despite this knowledge, he kept clumping them together into neat little stacks. Making sure it was perfect. Making sure it was organized. Making sure it was all accounted for.

It was practical. It was logical. There was no other option to take that was as good as this one. He wouldn't be slowing down the team anymore, at work. Jared was going to leave anyway; this was just a way to take away one more person that might have slowed him down. Like he slowed Lea down— that was why she went to Hershey. She wouldn't even know this happened in the first place, she was so removed. The only effect it would have on her was relief that she didn't have to worry about him all the way here on the other side of the country. Melendez wouldn't be frustrated anymore; he could turn his attention to the others, who deserved it, and he could forget about Shaun. He'd never wanted him working there to begin with. Claire could stop being so sad all the time; she would be able to focus on her job, and things she cared about. And he could stop dragging himself along like he had been. He'd be able to stop feeling like this.

It was perfect for everyone.

He filled a cup with water and picked up the first six pills of Ibuprofen. He stared at them in his palm, wondering if the little capsules had always felt this heavy. He tipped his head back and put them in his mouth. When he dropped his arm and straightened, he found his eyes catching on the mirror again. Once more, he hesitated. The pills stayed where they were. He studied himself in the mirror. His disheveled hair, his sick pallor, his eyes rimmed red from crying. His tongue was going numb, he was waiting for so long. Subconsciously, his other hand tightened hard around the rim of the sink, gripping so fast to the porcelain that his knuckles went white. He waited.

For what felt like forever, he waited.

Hesitated.

Agonized.

He was sad. That was why he was doing this. He was tired. He was done. He was alone.

He was scared.

He closed his eyes tightly and inhaled through his nose. The pills were numbing his entire mouth. Before too long, they would numb his entire body. Unless he gave into the fear right this second. Unless he spit it all out and stumbled away from the sink, heart pounding hard against his ribcage in the face of what he'd almost done. Unless…

He forced his arm into motion, lifted the glass up to his lips, and took his first drink.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"C'mon, Shaun, c'mon!" Jared was hunched over his friend, yelling desperately with a voice quickly going hoarse. He'd moved a while ago, resorting to crouching on the floor of the car and just ignoring the jostles and bumps that came as a result of Claire weaving in and out of lanes. He just balanced, bent low to be eye-level with Shaun. Or, he would be eye-level, if Shaun's eyes were open. They weren't; the entire ride, he hadn't opened them, despite Jared's outright begging. Every single second that dragged by was maddening, and every time those seconds stacked together to create another minute, his breathing only hitched and escalated all the more. By now he was losing control— he was quickly beginning to hyperventilate and gasp, the longer it took Claire to get to Saint Bonaventure, and the longer Shaun remained unresponsive.

"Shaun!" he screamed, his voice grating against his throat. "Shaun, wake up! Shaun!" He reached out and slapped Shaun's cheek three times. His friend's eyes shifted just the tiniest bit underneath his eyelids, and Jared spat out a curse, frustration burning under his skin like fire. "Shaun!" He whirled around to Claire, his heart hammering. "Claire, drive faster!" he screeched.

"I can't!" She was crying. He would stop and feel back about yelling at her later. Right now, it wasn't in his mind at all. "I can't drive any faster, Jared, I'm going as fast as I can!" He whirled back around to Shaun, his eyes flying wildly over him. "Is he okay!? Is he breathing!?" Her question was congested with so much sobbing it was difficult to tell what she was even asking. Jared was gasping, fumbling for straws. He reached out pinched Shaun's neck as hard as he possibly could. When at first there was no reaction, it was only with the tiniest of hesitations and regret that he shifted to dig his nails down into his friend's skin. Pressing as hard as possible, drawing blood.

This was enough. Shaun's head moved just the tiniest bit, a muffled noise between an exhale and a grumble falling sloppily out of his mouth. His lips hardly parted. It was barely noticeable. But the tiny shift was move than he'd gotten so far, and Jared immediately gasped, moving to slap at his face again. "Shaun!" she screeched louder. Shaun's eyes twitched, as if to open, but they didn't get that far. It was something, though. He was still there. There was some part of him that was still there with them. "Shaun, you're going to be fine, you're going to be fine."

His words were softer now— tiny hisses that were mumbled more into his ear as he continued to try and slap him into some kind of awareness. He didn't want to pinch him again, but if that was what it took, he would. "You're going to be fine, we're going to take care of you, you're going to be just fine," he rushed, his words blurring together in desperation and panic. Shaun didn't react to any of this, and Jared's voice hitched and thickened. "Shaun, come on, come on, please…" His voice was breaking, to sound more like Claire's. To shatter and cave in on itself, because the situation was too harrowing to let it do anything else.

He leaned down, taking in a sharp gasp. His forehead hit against Shaun's shoulder. "Why did you do this?" he croaked, in a whisper too quiet for Claire to hear. He knew Shaun wouldn't answer or explain. He knew he wouldn't even open his eyes. But he pleaded with him all the same, knowing it didn't matter. "Why didn't you talk to us— you could have talked to us, we could have helped you, we could have—" He choked back a thick swallow and shook his head where it still rested. He tightened his grip on Shaun, digging his fingers down into his arm so that maybe the touch would get through to him.

He took in a breath that came across sounding more like a gasp. "You're going to be okay, we're going to take care of you," he reassured softly, his syllables hitched and congested. "You're going to walk away from this, I promise. I promise you, Shaun." And he might have said more— he might have talked like that for the rest of the car ride, babbling nonsense that didn't even matter because the person he was talking to was comatose. But the person he was talking to was his friend. So, he didn't stop; he couldn't. He made sure he was still breathing, he struggled to get a reaction out of him, but all the while he tried to get him respond, even if it was just an incoherent mumble.

He didn't know how long it took Claire to get back to the hospital. Everything was moving too fast to keep track of, yet at the same time, everything was moving in slow motion. It was taking too long, but when the car screeched to a stop, it also felt like only a second had passed. He jerked once the car stopped and he was thrown off-kilter. Not a second after, was Claire already out of the driver's seat and doubling back to rip open their door. She wasn't freaking out anymore, or yelling. Clearly, she was trying to keep herself as composed as possible, as she stepped back. But her face was still written over with barely-suppressed panic, and tears were still rushing down her face as her eyes went to Shaun.

Jared slid out of the car and turned back to quickly to drag Shaun close and bundle him up again. Just like before, he was putty in his hands. He was dead weight, but Jared could manage it. He backed up from the car and Claire slammed it shut behind him. Then, completely in sync, the two sprinted for the emergency room, Jared keeping a tight hold on Shaun, so he wasn't jostled out of grip. They bypassed the waiting room, and the check-in desk; they didn't have time for that. They ran straight into the ER, Claire shouting the second they were near enough to be heard.

"Help!" she all but screamed, and the call was effective enough to win the attention of practically every single person in the area. It was probably loud enough to make a few people upstairs look up in alarm. They would apologize later for the scene. Or maybe they wouldn't, because right now, it was needed. "Sh— t-twenty-six-year-old patient with an acute drug overdose!" The moment Jared saw an empty bed, he was beelining for it. Protocol be damned.

Doctor Lim had been standing off to the side speaking with one of the nurses; at Claire's yell she was whirling around in confusion, looking, for a moment, more like a deer in headlights than she did a doctor. There was a question writing itself on her face, but when she turned towards them, her eyes immediately went to Shaun, in Jared's arms. Complete shock and horror slapped itself on her face. She was winded for a second, but thankfully, as Jared laid Shaun down on his side and Claire kept yelling, she snapped out of it and rushed over.

Claire wasn't paying attention; she was looking down at the piece of paper she was still holding. It was shaking wildly in her hands. Her voice was more choked and tearful when she kept blurting out: "He took— forty-thousand milligrams of Ibuprofen and— thirteen-thousand milligrams of Aspirin— that's just if these numbers are right!" Doctor Lim rushed over, slapped in the face with the sudden entrance. The expression she wore made it seem like this was something impossible— something that didn't make sense and could never happen in a million years.

Because, in actuality, it was.

But she was a doctor. She stared down at the resident, for whom she'd never tried to make it any secret she harbored the softest spot for, for only a brief moment. Before she sucked in a deep breath and just bent down, checking his breathing and lifting his eyelids to check his pupils. "Right— how long ago did he take it all?" she demanded. Claire's face fell, and she turned to look questioningly at Jared. He was just as lost; he didn't have the answer, either.

While she waited for them to come up with something, she turned Shaun's head more up, her touch forceful enough to try and worm some attention out of him. "Shaun, can you hear me!?" she demanded. Shaun didn't react, so she yelled louder, reaching up and brushing his hair out of his face with more force than was necessary, just as another means of trying to elicit any kind of response. "Shaun, when did you take all of this!? You need to tell me, Shaun, I have to know!" She glanced at the other two and asked lower: "Has he been unresponsive?"

Again, Claire looked at Jared. He shook his head fast. "He— he hasn't said anything, or opened his eyes, but I pinched him earlier and he made a noise like it hurt. He moved his head." It was better than nothing. They needed anything they could get. Lim nodded tensely and looked back down, moving Shaun's head again and calling out to him a little louder. One of the nurses was rushing back to Lim, holding a handful of equipment. Jared was about to offer his help, when a sudden yell caused both him and Claire to whirl around.

"What in the world is going on!?" They turned to see Melendez rushing into the ER. His eyes were wide, and when they flickered from Lim to Shaun, they only stretched wider. Jared saw Claire clam up where she stood at his side. He could practically feel her anxiety spike back up through the roof. Their attending, however, didn't notice. He was just staring at Shaun, his expression the same as Lim's was when she'd first connected the puzzle pieces. "What happened!?" he demanded. His head snapped back up to his two residents. "Where did you two go!?"

So he did notice their absence. Jared was the one to reply. He didn't want the job to go to Claire. "We left to try and get Shaun to come into work," he rushed; he spoke so fast his words practically blended together. Melendez stared at him, stricken and shell-shocked. At least it meant he wouldn't interrupt. "We went into his apartment and the bathroom door was locked— I broke it down, and he was just lying in the bathtub— he'd overdosed on Ibuprofen and Aspirin together. We ran him here as fast as we could; he hasn't responded to anything."

Melendez was floored. His mouth was halfway open, but nothing came out, like he couldn't even find any words. "You're— he—" He looked down at Shaun. Lim was still talking loudly to him— Jared's breath caught when he saw that Shaun's right eye had cracked open just the tiniest bit. It was just the tiniest sliver of white. But he was awake, and Lim was yelling even louder to try and build off that. Claire's expression was drawn, and, moving like it was on impulse, she shoved the paper into Melendez's hands. Their attending took it in confusion and looked down. Jared didn't want to see his face as he read it.

But he also didn't want to look at what Lim was doing.

She'd gotten Shaun's mouth open and was currently funneling a thin, hollowed tube down his throat. Weakly, he was gagging and choking on it, subconsciously trying to push it out of his esophagus. She was doing her best to force the tubing down despite it, so it could reach all the way down into his stomach. "Don't fight it, Shaun!" she pleaded tensely. Still, he choked and retched. Claire was staring at her friend in shock, tears rolling numbly down her cheeks. "Just relax, Shaun, you need to breathe— we're getting all of this out of you, you need to cooperate! Just breathe for me!"

Melendez's eyes combed quickly through the paper— its notes and measurements. When he looked back up at Shaun, his face was more ashen, and pale. He didn't move at once to help Lim, because she didn't need help at the moment. He just stared at his resident, whose eyes had fallen closed again. As, weakly, he heaved and choked on the tubing. As Doctor Lim forced liquid down into his stomach only to suck it back up and begin to try and pump the overwhelming amount of medicine out. To save him before it was too late, given that their timer hadn't already run out.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It's strange how things can slow down. How everything can be going so fast one moment that you can barely wrap your head around it, and then in a sudden instant, it will all screech to a stop. Time is fickle, like that. They say it flies by the most when you're having fun. But really, it flies the fastest when something terrible is happening. Then, it passes in the blink of an eye, but only in a way you really notice when everything is over, and you can actually breathe again. You see just how slow a second really is, when you're not wondering wildly how you can get through it.

That was how it was now. Claire was wondering how in the world time could be so different. How things could be so calm, and slow down like this, when something so irreversible had happened. All the yelling and screaming and driving and running, all the terror and fear and crying, and now it was just suddenly…done. There was nothing left to do now but linger here, in the Intensive Care Unit. To be at Shaun's bedside and look down at him with a tightness in her throat and a pain in her chest. To listen to the sound of the heartbeat monitors bounce and echo off the walls, and hope that there wasn't any irregularity when his vitals were scanned every hour.

He'd been asleep for a long time. Peaceful and relaxed, his head was slack to the side against his pillow and his breathing was slow and deep. Claire and Jared were staying faithfully at his bedside; neither of them could possibly bring themselves to leave— the thought hadn't even occurred once. They'd stood by him the entire time his stomach was pumped free of the chemicals he'd swallowed, and they'd rushed after him once he was transitioned into the ICU. They were like his shadows, attached to him and unable to go anywhere else.

They didn't speak much. Neither of them was sure what to say.

After hour four, Melendez had stopped by. The pair had fully been anticipating the yelling that would ensue— the lecture that 'the show must go on' and that they had to get back to work. But none of that came. When he walked through the door, he hardly even looked at them. His eyes were for Shaun, small and listless in the hospital bed that seemed much too big for him. Silence reigned for what felt like five lifetimes, before he eventually offered: "I suppose…I can't yell at you two for skipping work." It wasn't clear on whether this was supposed to be a joke or actual sincerity. The tone of voice he used made it near impossible to discern. The expression he wore was just as ambiguous.

Jared wasn't sure what to say. He just stared down at Shaun, his eyes dull. Claire was actually the one to speak. Not to reply to her teacher, but to just announce something different. Something that hurt coming out, but she couldn't hold back anymore. The obvious, that didn't really need to be stated, but what was going to be anyway. "He really tried to kill himself." Her words were hollow. Jared closed his eyes tightly, and Melendez's flashed, but she kept going. She couldn't stop herself; it was all spilling out. "He locked the door…he took all that medicine…he laid flat on his back so there was a higher chance of asphyxiation…" Her lips trembled, and her voice was near broken when she croaked: "He wanted to die— he didn't want help, he was past that, he—"

"It doesn't matter." Jared's voice was hard, only because he couldn't keep listening. Claire cringed, but didn't put up a fight. "None of that matters because we got him in time. He's still alive; he's still here, so it doesn't matter." All three knew that that wasn't true in the slightest. But nobody could actually bring themselves to say it out loud. "He's going to wake up, and we're going to get him help, and he'll be able to move past this. He'll get back to the way he was, I know he will." It was big talk, coming from the actual look that was on his face. Big as in bold that he would think they would accept it.

Melendez's response was slow, and careful. He was trying to keep his voice as apathetic as possible. "I'll have to speak to Doctor Andrews," he began. Claire tensed; she hadn't even thought that far ahead. But of course, their attending had. Bleakly, some part of her she was almost too afraid to admit was conscious asked whether or not he'd already anticipated something like this happening. Whether or not he had words already planned in his mind. Whether or not he'd seen the warning signs she had and was just as in denial as she was about really addressing them. Until it was too late. "I'll try my best to save his job." The vow came without prompt by either of the two.

Claire should have felt a rush of gratitude to her attending. She should have felt the tiniest blossom of hope. But instead, all she felt was another rush of sorrow grip her windpipe and cut off her air. Her shoulders hunched forward and curled in, like he was physically hurt, and her breath came in a little sharper than normal. Another wave of tears caused her eyesight to blur, and when she spoke, it wasn't to say thank-you, or to volunteer any kind of help to the cause. Though those feelings were there, it wasn't what fell out. What did fall out was something else that should have been obvious. A fear that had gone unspoken up until now, but she was letting slip in the tiniest of whispers.

"What if he hates us?" she croaked. This, Melendez turned at. Jared look at her too, his expression ripping with pain. Her lips wavered again, and her voice was even more choked when she forced herself to elaborate. "What if he hates us for saving him?"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

They weren't asked to return to work. Not like they would have if they had been. Some things were more important, and Melendez himself had said before that they hadn't really had a use for them at the moment. Or at least not a pressing one. So they stayed there in his room, as the nurse and the technician filed in and out. Everyone was on pins and needles to make sure that Shaun was fine and there was no lingering repercussion just waiting to pounce from the attempted overdose. It never came. In the corner of the room, near the door, sat a silent observer. A young-looking nurse who simply watched Shaun with full intensity, only looking away every so often to write something down on the notepad in front of her. It was standard issue, with cases like these. To have someone, usually in the lower ranks, just sit and preside over the room. To watch the patient, especially when they were awake, and make sure nothing went awry.

Make sure that there was not another attempt at suicide.

Apparently, even though Claire and Jared both worked there, they didn't qualify as enough.

Jared had moved over to sit in a rolling chair a little bit away from the bed. He looked like he was trying to distract himself by thumbing absently on his phone. Though every other five seconds, he would look to Shaun, like he was worried that in the time he'd turned away, something terrible had happened. Claire had dragged the recliner up to Shaun's bedside, much worse at distracting herself than her friend was, apparently. She couldn't even look away from him for a second.

All she could do was sit there and stare at him. Remember bleakly how he'd yelled and snapped at her in his apartment, telling her to leave because he'd had enough of talking. How his eyes had glassed over when Morgan called him out in front of the entire team, accusing him of not caring enough. How he sat there through their lunch break and didn't eat anything, reassuring whenever she prodded him that he just wasn't hungry. All the little moments of time she maybe could have prevented this from happening. Could have reached out to him, or said something to him, or done something to at least show that she cared. Rather than just sweeping it all under the rug.

She had a headache. She was tired, and her eyes hurt from crying.

She was about to stand up and go to the bathroom, maybe try and throw water on her face to see if it helped. But right as she was beginning to open her mouth and turn towards Jared, there was the tiniest of sounds. A subtle shift on the mattress that hadn't been there before and sliced through the silence that had been permeating the room. It wasn't loud at all, but it was more than clear, all things considered. It was enough to wipe her mind clean of whatever she'd been about to do. Claire immediately turned back, her heart leaping up to lodge in her throat. From where he was sitting, Jared got the message and staggered immediately to his feet.

Something like a mumble started and died in the back of Shaun's throat. His eyes began to twitch. He started to try and force them open. The simple action looked like it took an unbelievable amount of strength and effort. Like he was having to dig himself up out of the ground. Claire was hardly breathing as she waited. Her hands clenched tightly in her lap as his head moved to be more center on the pillow, and when she saw the flash of his blue eyes, she couldn't hold back a heavy exhale of relief. Relief that split apart her face in a beaming smile when he opened them more. Though he only really managed to open them halfway.

She hadn't realized until this very moment how worried she was that she would never see those eyes again.

Though Shaun successfully wormed his eyes open, his stare was fuzzy, and far away. He wasn't all there. Which was understandable…it was to be expected. But it still hurt Claire to see. Beyond measure, she hurt as she watched the gears in his head struggle their hardest to turn, only to fail. She was completely terrified, but she found herself speaking anyway. Her voice was soft and small in its reluctance. Her throat was sore from crying. "Shaun?" she breathed. He blinked slowly at the sound of his name. At first, she was worried he wouldn't be able to acknowledge it. But eventually his head fell to the side, so he could look at her. Their eyes met, and she felt her tears flood back at the muddled look that was on his face. He didn't look like her friend at all. But she struggled to keep her voice light when she whispered: "How do you feel?" Which was a stupid question. But it was all she could get out.

Jared watched the two intently. He didn't move a single muscle as he waited for Shaun to respond.

He did. It followed a long beat of silence, but eventually he did. His voice sounded just like his expression looked: completely wrong, and unfocused. It sounded like his tongue wasn't listening to him— like he was trying to speak through a mouthful of something. "'M…okay," he all but exhaled. It was barely anything at all; Claire had to strain to hear, and she was less than three feet away. But the reply – the intelligent one, as muffled as that intelligence was – brought a watery smile to her face. And the smile only grew and fractured more when Shaun mumbled: "Claire…? What are…?" He sighed halfway through the question and let it die prematurely. His eyes flickered closed, like he was in danger of falling right back asleep.

Claire had to bite down hard on her lower lip. She choked back a hard swallow, her chest beginning to burn by now. Like she was having a heart attack, only somehow ten times as painful. Shaun pried open his eyes again in time to see her duck down and wipe at her eyes. His forehead slowly creased. He looked at her in nothing short of blatant confusion. "You're…why are— you crying?" he slurred, and Claire's expression broke even more.

She tried to take in a few deep breaths and calm herself, but her lips shook when she forced them up into a grin. Her voice was nothing more than a tiny sob when she replied, which should have immediately proven whatever she was saying false. But Shaun was much too far gone to understand and pick up on this, which made her cry even harder. "Because…I'm just so happy," she lied pathetically, her words thick and clogged. Shaun continued to stare at her in that disoriented way. In the wake of all the medicine he'd taken, he was completely out of everything. Again, it was something that was expected, and anticipated. But again, it didn't make it easier at all. In a way, it only made it harder. "I'm happy you're okay," Claire continued, sniffling. She wiped at her eyes again and looked at him with a mournful smile. "So I'm crying."

Jared ducked his head, rubbing at his forehead. He reached down and pulled out his phone and sent a text. Claire had no idea to who – though she had a guess – but she didn't really care. She watched a tiny smile trace its way lazily over her friend's face. It was a genuine smile, and it was the first genuine smile she had seen from him in months. But it was caked and layered in that confusion. In that haze. It wasn't him. Her heart tore when he whispered softly: "That's good you're happy…that's good…you deserve…to be happy."

She quickly moved on, because if they lingered over this for much longer, she was going to break down. Instead, she repeated her question from before. "How do you feel?" This, at least, was a question she was well-versed in. It made her feel, if only in the tiniest way, that she was asking this question to just another patient. Like the reason she was sitting in this ICU room was because she just had to get intel on who she was in charge of that shift…not because it was her friend in this bed. "Do you feel okay, Shaun?" she murmured. Somehow, she couldn't shake the impulse to speak low. "Are you in pain?" This question came softer.

He'd been in pain for so long, now. He didn't deserve any more.

No sooner did the thought run through her mind, did she wonder whether or not that was his same idea when he'd first put those pills in his mouth.

It almost made her throw up right then and there, but somehow, she kept herself in check.

"Why…why wouldn't I be okay?" he asked, instead of answering. It seemed like her question, and all it implied, had only just now dawned over him. His lips pulled into a frown. He looked like someone that had just been handed a book out of the blue written entirely in Spanish, and they were told they had a day to read it and write a report on it. "Why wouldn't I…?" He blinked, looking down at himself groggily and noticing for the first time where he was. Claire tensed as she watched his confusion build and stack. He looked down at his arm, to the IVs that were embedded in his skin. His eyebrows drew more and more together. "Where am…what hap—?"

"What do you remember, Shaun?" Jared asked. Immediately, Claire turned and shot him a look, silently pleading with him not ask, or pry. Shaun wasn't with them mentally right now— there was no use in trying to get answers out of him. And there definitely wasn't any use in upsetting him. Right now, it looked like he was still too far gone to have even a scrap of the sorrow he'd lugged around with him for weeks now. This was a tiny respite, a little blip of happiness in the midst of some horrible nightmare. They should let him have this. They shouldn't rip it from him, even if he didn't realize he had it in the first place.

Their friend's confusion wasn't lessened at all by the question. He looked front, staring hazily off into space. It almost looked like he was going to forget them entirely, and therefore ignore the question. But, as his eyes flickered closed again, he muttered a reply. He was speaking so softly; his mouth was hardly moving. "I wanted pancakes," he sighed, and Claire flinched when she ran her hands up through her hair. Shaun stifled a yawn. He looked like he was grasping for something more to say. Like he was rifling through the parts of his brain that were actually aware and functioning for maybe a better answer. But apparently, he came up with nothing. His voice monotone, he ended with a tiny: "I don't know."

Jared started to say something, but Claire didn't want to risk it. "That's okay, Shaun," she reassured, shooting her friend a look. Jared only held her stare blankly. It was hard to determine what that meant. She turned back to Shaun and softened. "That's just fine; it's not important. Not right now." She was going to say more, when she saw movement near the door. Looking up, she stiffened when her eyes locked with Melendez's. He must have been the one Jared texted. He must have rushed here from wherever he'd been. He looked a little more disheveled than normal.

Shaun seemed to catch the fact that Claire's attention was elsewhere. He dragged his head so that it fell limply to the other side, towards the entryway. Melendez weakened when their stares clashed. Shaun was silent; he didn't make a move to say anything at all. Their attending was just as mute, as the initial shock settled in. He did his best to shove it aside, and when he eventually did, he forced himself to look back at his other residents. His coherent ones. "He just woke up?" he demanded. Jared nodded, and Claire reached up to wipe at her eyes again. Neil nodded a couple times, mostly to himself, it looked like. "I've been asking to see his scans when they come through; there haven't been any complications, from what I've seen."

He was talking quieter, too. Claire wondered if it was just the floor that was making everyone so quiet. Or whether it was the fragility of this entire situation that made them too cautious to speak much above a whisper.

Their attending turned back to Shaun, who had changed to look down at himself again. Claire could see those gears struggling to turn again, or just move in any direction, really. At this point, the tiniest shift would mean worlds. Neil cleared his throat and prompted: "Murphy." He roused just the tiniest bit, but more in the way a teenager would when their parents were trying to get them to do a chore. Only mildly interested. "Can you tell me what day it is?" Melendez wasn't his doctor. Shaun wasn't assigned to him, he likely had other patients to attend to, and yet here he was. She didn't know if that was touching or if it was horribly sad.

Shaun blinked. More gears twitching. More failed attempts at thought. A muted look of confusion and disappointment started to come over his face. It was an answer in it of itself, but a more definitive one was given when he did speak. When he very clearly just took a stab in the dark. "Wednesday," he mumbled, off by more than twenty-four hours. Claire closed her eyes and let out a slow breath to calm herself. Jared was staring off just above Shaun's head, like that made it easier somehow.

Melendez's lips pressed down hard together. He hesitated for a moment, surveying his resident, before he just said: "I'll ask you that question again later. You just think on it some more, alright?" His voice was measured, and patient. Like he was asking Shaun a complicated surgical question, and not just what day of the week they were currently on. He cleared his throat and started to continue: "How about—?"

"Do I…we're at work?" Shaun mumbled sloppily, cutting him off but not even acknowledging the fact that he did. Melendez stopped short. Shaun was finally taking everything in, the bed, the walls, the monitors, and apparently this was the conclusion he was left to come to. Claire stared at him heavily when he went on. He didn't have a choice, of course— nobody was answering him. "We're at work, I— I have to go to work?"

Claire looked at Jared. The expression on her face was like if someone had stabbed her in the abdomen. Nobody reacted at first, as the question just sunk in. But they were forced to when Shaun started to try and shuffle to the side, out of bed. His arm began to move as he tried to reach for the railing, running the risk of dislodging the needles that were set in place there. He started to lean forward and twist; the effort looked like it brought a wave of sickness to rush over him. Immediately, Claire leaned over and put her hand down on his chest, gently but firmly pushing him back down. "No, Shaun, don't get up!" she pleaded. Shaun was blinking fast – or at least faster than he'd been so far – at the objection. He looked completely lost. "You have to lay down, you can't move."

"Why?" Shaun asked. "I'm— we're at…"

Claire was trying to come up with something, but to her shock, it was Melendez who did. "You're on break," he announced, and Claire and Jared both looked at him fast. He was just studying Shaun, though, who seemed surprised with the apparent 'reminder.'

He stared at his teacher with that fuzzy confusion. If Claire didn't know any better, she would have thought that Melendez's eyes were a little bit rawer in pain when he did. "You don't…need me?" he asked. The syllables were all running together. It brought to Claire's mind the image of alphabet soup— all the letters there to make words, but just too mixed up to be understood correctly.

Melendez's jaw locked backwards. He took his time replying. And when he did… "Of course I need you, Shaun." Claire's eyes widened just a bit. Jared was better at averting his surprise. He was less effective at hiding the flash of remorse that went through them, though. "Just not right now." This was allowed to hang in the air of the hospital room for what felt like much longer than it actually was. Before Melendez inhaled a little sharper and remedied it a bit with a stiffer order of: "Just stay down. Rest."

Shaun still seemed unsure. But his mind was flitting this way and that, and he quickly left behind his confusion. The corners of his lips tugged upwards instead, into another smile. Another grin that wasn't truly his. His eyes drifted closed again; Claire could see how exhausted he was. How pale, and how drained, and considering his morning, she was surprised he was already awake and talking now. She cleared her throat. "Is there anything you need, Shaun?" she prompted. She wouldn't be able to get him anything to eat or drink. Not for a long time. But she felt useless, just sitting there. Not helping.

She hadn't been helping Shaun for ages, now. Even if it was too late, she wanted to do this much.

Shaun turned to her again, in that limp way he was looking everywhere. Like his neck wasn't working right. His eyes cracked open to that half-lidded stare again, and Claire's heart twisted at sight of his hazy blue eyes. He sighed very heavily. Half of his mouth muffled by his pillow, he mumbled: "I'm just…tired." She weakened. Again, it felt like someone was taking a knife to her chest. To cut around her heart like a stencil and rip it out. Shaun was oblivious to her pain, like he was oblivious to everything. Absently, like he wasn't even aware he was doing it, he repeated in an exhale: "I'm tired…"

Tears set her eyes on fire. A lump formed hard in the middle of her throat. Claire thought of the way they'd rushed into the bathroom, to see him unresponsive with vomit running down the side of his mouth. How he'd been limp in Jared's arms. How he hadn't been eating, or sleeping, or even getting out of bed. How he'd looked at Glassman's funeral as he'd watched them lower the coffin into the ground. How he'd refused to say more than a couple words at a time at work, shutting everyone else out completely. She remembered all of these, and her tears only built faster. Only stung more.

Her reply came in the form of a choked whimper. "I know," she cried. "I know you are."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Despite his exhaustion, blatantly obvious, Shaun didn't go back to sleep. He stayed in the thick of the drug-induced haze, but he didn't lose consciousness. Marginally, only in tiny increments did he come back into awareness. He wasn't going to gain full rationality for a long time. But over time his voice grew the tiniest bit clearer, and he talked a little more at time. Melendez had to leave but Claire and Jared were still his shadows. Even if they got into trouble later, they would remain. Not only to make sure that Shaun was alright and nothing more happened, but also to give him company. Even if he had no idea what was going on, they were going to make sure he wasn't going to be alone.

But it was sad. It was hollowing Claire's chest, to sit here and talk with Shaun and see him the way he was. Because he was happy. Disoriented and confused, but happy. He was almost like his old self, if they could look beyond…everything else. Currently, Claire was leaning over showing him pictures of her neighbor's puppy she had saved on her phone. Her name was Fluffle, and she had the bushy fur to back it up. Shaun loved animals. She was running out of distractions, by this point. "She barks all the time," Claire was saying. Shaun had a faint trace of a smile as he looked at the screen. Jared was simply looking between the two of them, in a mix between pain and affection. "But she loves treats…I bought her some the other day, and she practically did a flip."

Shaun's lips twitched upwards again. "I…never had a dog," he sighed. "I had a rabbit…but my father threw it against a wall." Claire stiffened, her eyes flying wide. Jared straightened, too, confusion writing over his face. Shaun had said this very simply, and conversationally, like it didn't matter. And despite their sharp reactions, he was just turning, getting sidetracked again as he looked down at his arm. He made a face, lifting it and watching the wires and clips follow suit. The way he was looking at it made it seem like it was a large inconvenience to him. "I'm trying to get a cat…but it's not working," he moved on. Neither of them said anything; Claire looked up at Jared for an answer, but he didn't have one.

In this silence, a thought seemed to occur to Shaun, and he looked straight ahead with a small scowl. "This break is long," he complained.

It took Claire a second to realize what he was talking about. She closed her eyes briefly but forced herself to smile when they opened again. "Because we're all just really tired," she attempted, knowing it wasn't nearly a good enough excuse. If Shaun was thinking clearly, he'd see right through it— or, if he was thinking clearly, he would have realized he was a patient, not just hanging around. He'd see the IV line and the monitors and understand at once. But he wasn't, so when she offered this, he took it without too much fuss. He only sighed, and let it drop.

Instead, Claire's heart twisted when another grin wormed sloppily over his face. Affection leaked in with the fuzziness— affection so genuine-looking, that Claire had a hard time facing it directly. Shaun didn't notice, surprise, surprise. But he did seem more than focused to get something out, because he stayed with a topic. Which was an improvement, because all day he'd been going from one thing to another quicker than Claire could keep up with. "You're nice," he gushed, at first to nobody in particular, as he just stared forward. But then he roused, and his eyes flickered between the two of them. "You're both really nice…I've never had friends before." The smile was growing on his face. Numbly, Claire just stared, her vision beginning to blur all over again. "Now I have two of them…and they're very nice."

Thankfully, Jared had himself in check. He leaned over and patted Shaun's arm; in contrast to what he would have done before, Shaun didn't even tense at the unexpected contact. It was a question on whether or not he even felt it in the first place. "Sure you do, Shaun," he reassured. The smile on his face was worn. "You're a good friend, too. You've always been a good friend."

Claire nodded in a jerking kind of way. All she could contribute was a barely-there: "Yeah."

Shaun was more than pleased. He stayed grinning, over the moon. But once again, he switched gears without warning. The smile melted away, and that befuddlement came back instead. Like he just realized something was wrong. And sure enough, that was the case. "Where's Glassman?" he rasped. Claire went rigid. Her stomach plummeted about five stories. He didn't even remember Glassman had died? Or was it a mixture of denial with the cocktail of drugs he'd taken?

Jared's tongue stuck hard into his cheek. His eyes flashed once more in that pain. It seemed to be everywhere, coming from everything. Hiding and jumping out without any warning to sink its claws into them. Claire had been trying to distract him as best she could, to try and stave off this ache for as long as they could. Apparently, it wasn't nearly enough.

Her mind was blank at first, and for a heart-stopping second, she was afraid she wouldn't be able to come up with anything. It was an unspoken agreement between her and Jared that they wanted to keep him happy for as long as they could. There was no use in making him face anything when he was like this. So, thankfully, the lie came. Though it tasted bitter and foul when it crossed her tongue, she forced it out anyway, her voice falsely bright. The tone she used for a patient when she knew their outlook was bleak. "He's…he's in a meeting, Shaun," she murmured. He looked at her, like he wasn't even sure what she meant. "He's just busy."

Shaun's eyes closed, and he took in a slow breath, letting it out in yet another noisy sigh. "Do you know when he's going to be done?" he hummed. "I want…to tell him something."

Her throat burned. She only shook her head. "I don't know, Shaun," she whispered. "I don't know when he'll be done."

Disappointment swamped over his face. For a heartbeat, it looked like something more. It looked like his expression was in danger of breaking, like he was going to start crying. For a heartbeat, he actually looked like he had throughout all of this— tearful and grieved and at his wit's end. Unfortunately, more like himself. Claire watched this change tensely, shrinking as she wondered whether or not this was going to be the one to start bringing back everything. But as soon as the sorrowful expression began to hit him, it left just as quickly. It only grazed him before his thoughts were dragged away again.

His expression relaxed. He left the worry behind.

Somehow, the forced apathy was even worse than if he had really broken down.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was late, now. The sun had long since sunk. Shaun was even more exhausted, and with this tiredness, he was even less able to keep track of a simple conversation. He could only hold one for about ten seconds before it fell away. It didn't mean they weren't trying. "Do you need anything, Shaun?" Claire asked, for about the millionth time. Jared had transitioned to sit at the foot of Shaun's bed, his legs folded crisscross. Before Shaun could ask, because he was likely to, Claire reminded gently: "You can't have anything to eat or drink, yet. But do you need something else?"

Shaun's eyes dragged back down to his arm. It kept drawing his attention. A bleary grimace came over his face as he shifted his arm around clumsily. Jared had to reach over and hold it down gently, before he ripped anything out. "Can I get this…why is this on…?" Shaun frowned, his eyebrows knitting more together. "Why are these on me…?" he slurred. "I want…them off…"

"You need them, Shaun," Jared said patiently. "You can't get them out quite yet. Maybe tomorrow."

He grumbled dully under his breath, his voice too quiet to make out the words. But to be honest, it was a little questionable in the first place if he even meant for something to come out. His eyes closed again, and a couple of seconds went by in silence. Before Shaun broke it with a tiny and monotone: "Your voice sounds funny. All the time." Jared's eyebrows raised; against himself, his mouth started to edge up into a smirk. He scoffed a little bit under his breath. Claire couldn't help but giggle either. Shaun didn't react to the laughter, though— he was merely stating a fact, and left it as such.

A faint knock earned Claire and Jared's attention. The two of them turned towards the door and immediately changed in demeanor when they saw Melendez walking back into the room, this time with company. Morgan and Park were taking up the rear behind him, entering a little bit more hesitantly in comparison to their teacher. Melendez started to speak, but Claire beat him to it. If she was worried about appearances and keeping cordial, she wouldn't have. But she wasn't worried about that. So she spoke without thinking, in nothing more than a flat growl. "What are you doing here?" she snapped, her eyes drilling to Morgan as they narrowed.

Morgan said nothing. Which was certainly the wiser option. She just looked at Shaun, who wasn't paying attention at all to the interaction. He was rousing enough to look at Melendez instead, and again he started to move and shift. Jared had to reach out and stop him. Apparently, that was his designated job, in this situation. "Do you need me?" Shaun asked. "I can…help with—…I can do…scutwork." The more he talked, the lower his voice got, the final word barely even coming out in the first place. His eyes drifted down to his arm again, and he made that same face he always did when he remembered it. Jared had to hold it down before he tried to move it.

"No, Shaun." Melendez's voice was a little tighter than usual. Claire looked at her attending. In her lap, her hands clasped tightly together. She didn't mistake the fact that he used his first name. Melendez hardly ever used their first names— he preferred using their last ones. Whether it was a formality thing or just a preference thing, nobody really cared enough to ask. It was just always expected, so now it stuck out like a sore thumb. "I don't need you right now."

Shaun deflated at the dismissal, but he didn't object to it. In fact, in his muddled brain, it must have made some kind of sense. "No…" he relented in a sigh. "You don't need my help; you're smart…" Melendez's lips pursed. Shaun rambled on. "You're the smartest surgeon I know…except for Doctor Glassman." Morgan's forehead was creasing. Claire's eyes burned, and the longer Shaun went on, especially when he said this, the angrier she stared the other down. Practically daring her to say something. "I…" He might have continued, but his short attention span had expired. He just trailed off into a sigh.

"Clark says everything's been fine," Melendez said, once Shaun fell off the conversation. Claire wasn't surprised he already knew this— she wondered if he'd been talking to Shaun's doctor all day, making sure every little piece of news was routed to him right off the bat. "There haven't been any issues…I'd say sometime late tonight or early tomorrow, he'll finally come back around. Everything will be out of his system then. He'll be able to eat, drink…" And he'll likely be completely different than he was now. The last one went unspoken, but it didn't need to be voiced. They all knew it.

Jared leaned out and held Shaun's arm down again. He'd ripped out his IV twice today, and the nurses didn't appreciate the sudden flatline that ensued whenever he did. "Doctor Andrews?" he asked hesitantly.

Melendez inhaled slowly. His hands went up to his hips, like they did whenever he was in deep thought. He took his time in replying. "I spoke to him." This got Claire to look away from Morgan. Her heart stuttered with nerves; the look on his face wasn't a comforting one at all. "I explained to him to the best of my ability…I explained that it wasn't work-related— it was purely emotional. I told him that he couldn't be considered a liability to the hospital, and that because of that, he shouldn't be dismissed." Jared shot Shaun a frustrated look when he tried to move his arm again. Shaun apparently deemed his impatience unimportant. Neil's eyes flickered to the pair, and he gave a fractional shake of the head. "I even pulled out the stop about how depression is considered a disability and firing him because of that would be discrimination."

Claire's stomach clenched at the desperation. "Did he take it?"

Neil ran his hand through his hair. "I'm going back in there," he replied, and that was answer enough.

Claire wilted and looked at Shaun with worry. Shaun turned to her when he realized she was staring at him, and, after a moment's consideration, he offered her a grin. Or, it wasn't so much of a grin as it was an uncoordinated grimace. But the sentiment was there— she could see it. She returned the smile, but hers was much sadder. After forcing herself to hold his happy stare for as long as she could, she turned back front and found her eyes going to Morgan again. Immediately, her façade broke, and her eyes narrowed. "Are you happy now?" she demanded thinly, before she could stop herself. Her voice was practically dripping with poison.

Morgan stiffened, her eyes flashing.

Jared looked down at the blankets. "Claire…" he warned.

"No!" she snapped. Maybe it was because she was tired, maybe it was because of the stress that had been on her like weights the entire day. But she wasn't going to stop now. She offered Morgan a smile that was clearly meant to be unfriendly. "No, this is what you wanted, Morgan, isn't it?" she demanded. The blonde still said nothing, but her stare was gradually hardening. Whether that was from anger or discomfort wasn't very clear. "This is exactly what you wanted— you wanted Shaun out of the running from day one. It was your pressing to tell Doctor Andrews about the mistake he made with our patient, and you were the one that said he wasn't putting all his effort into the team when he was grieving the death of someone that might as well have been his father. So are you happy now? You helped push him – you've been pushing him this entire time – and now you've finally got him out of the way. He's going to get fired this time, because he's already got one strike thanks to you. And you helped him get this one, too."

"I didn't do anything," she objected stiffly. Claire's anger only tripled when the other had the audacity to argue. "Everything I said was just according to protocol. He almost kills a patient, he has to report it, he doesn't show up to work, he doesn't—"

"Are you kidding me!?" Claire yelled, standing up from her chair in a flash. Morgan was taken aback at the sudden volume. Shaun blinked groggily at it, looking perturbed but not as much as he would have been. Claire was crying, and her voice was fragile when she rushed on. But at the same time, the pure anger in her tone was enough to prop up her words to be as stable as they could be. "Look at him!" she cried. Morgan didn't. "How can you see him like this and not feel just the slightest bit remorseful!? How can you see him like this and still pretend your shit smells better than everyone else's!?"

"Claire!" Jared and Melendez yelled this at the same time.

From where she still sat by the corner, the guard stationed for Shaun's sake was standing by now, her eyes wide and daunted as she looked from Claire to Morgan. "Please don't yell," she requested. It was clear she felt awkward doing so. "You need to keep your voice down, or I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Claire scowled at Morgan, pure hatred burning through her blood. She was waiting for a rebuttal, but it never came. Morgan only stared at her, mute, and Claire shook her head in disappointment when she realized that nothing was going to come. She couldn't excuse her behavior. None of them could excuse their behavior. They were all at fault, and there was nothing any of them could do. Claire sat again, wiping roughly at her cheeks. She gripped tight to her knees, to try and ground herself and calm back down. Her breathing was escalated and punctured. She was about to tell Morgan to just leave. When she felt a tiny pressure against her arm.

She roused and turned to see Shaun had lifted his other arm and moved it so his hand lightly grazed her when she reached up. He was looking at her intently, and she sniffled. He gave her another smile that wasn't his. Another smile that was too everywhere to be a real one. Already, she was crumbling, just thanks to the look. But it was nothing compared to the way she fell apart when he whispered softly: "It'll be okay."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She wished she could say that Shaun stayed that way into tomorrow. As much as it pained her to see him so mixed-up and faraway, she would have taken that in a millisecond over what was there in the morning.

Jared had slept on the couch that had been pushed up against the wall. He was a little too tall for it, but he'd squished himself down so that he could fit and somehow be comfortable enough to eventually fall asleep. Claire had stayed in the recliner by Shaun and she had stayed up as long as he did. She wasn't going to let him be by himself for even an instant. So she'd stifled her yawns and talked with Shaun— or, started to talk with him before she found herself having to keep up whenever he changed topics. She never minded when he did. She was just glad to smile with him and talk with him. Like they really were just on break, and there was nothing wrong.

She'd eventually broken it to him that he should sleep. "You should probably go to bed, Shaun," she'd murmured, looking at how his eyes were practically already closed. "We'll still be here in the morning; we can talk more, then."

"Were you here all day?" Shaun had whispered. His eyes had started to close more and more.

She'd softened. "Yeah, of course, Shaun," she'd murmured. "Me and Jared. Both of us."

A weak smile had twitched over his face. He'd made it seem like he was going to speak again, but he fell asleep before he could. Claire had sat in silence for ages, just staring at him. Before she'd shifted to a makeshift sleeping position and just closed her eyes. She'd felt nervous— though she was more than exhausted enough to sleep, it had been a while before she could. Because she'd been worried— she'd had a harrowing feeling in the bottom of her gut that something was about to change. That when she woke up, something would be wrong, and different.

And that was exactly what the case was.

The very instant she opened her eyes, she felt it.

Already there. Waiting.

She opened her eyes and sensed this change in atmosphere. She could see that Jared was still sleeping, crammed on the couch. Somehow, he hadn't fallen off the entire night, which was a true achievement. She was stiff, but started to twist around anyway, to see whether or not Shaun was still asleep. The room was still dim, and after the day he'd had yesterday, she wouldn't be surprised if he slept for sixteen hours straight.

She straightened, her face falling when she saw that Shaun had changed positions. Rather than being flat on his back, like he'd fallen asleep, he was turned over on his side, so his back was to her. He had to lay awkwardly to do so— to stretch his arm out so that none of the IVs were tugged or smothered. She stayed there staring, silent. And in that silence, she heard something tiny. Something muffled.

Shaun was crying. He was doing so quietly. But she could hear his breathing, heavier and punctured. She saw his shoulders shaking up and down, and how his head was ducked more into his pillow. Claire immediately sat up more, her face falling. "Shaun?" she murmured, almost unable to bring herself to break the silence. Shaun ignored her. He just kept crying. She leaned a little closer, her voice breaking. "Shaun are you okay?" Jared started to rouse, behind her. He looked over at them, having to wake up before he could put two and two together. When he did, he splintered in sorrow just like Claire.

She kept trying to get him to turn around. "Shaun, please." Her voice was already tearful. "It's okay, Shaun— nobody is angry. We just want to help you. Please turn around."

He didn't though. He just kept crying. Like he couldn't stop.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

There was no talking. There wasn't anything to say. Shaun barely even looked at them. His head was turned away on his pillow; eventually, he stopped crying, but he still didn't speak, and every so often there was a stray tear that traced down the side of his face. He didn't reach up to wipe it away; he probably didn't see a point to it. Any attempt by Claire or Jared alike at conversation was fruitless. Each try just bounced right off of him. His mind was clear from the drugs he'd taken, and with that came the full realization of what had happened. What he had failed to do, and the wonder of what would happen now that he had.

Jared was sitting on the couch— he hadn't even tried to regain his position again at the foot of Shaun's bed. Claire was still in the chair, but, self-consciously, she had scooted it back so that she was a few feet away from the bed, instead of right there beside him where she wanted to be. The air was thick with tension, and the silence was oppressive. There was four people in the room, counting the sitter that was still stationed faithfully as a watch. But not a single soul was brave enough to break the silence. That, or they just didn't want to.

That changed when Shaun's doctor invited himself inside. Doctor Clark was well-respected in the hospital; they knew him. They'd spoken to him before, and they'd said hello to one another in the cafeteria a few times. He didn't spend very long focused on them— they were residents, they weren't his, and he had other things to do. But all the same, he was nice. Not like other doctors, who sometimes treated them like little kids running around, flopping over in too-big doctor's coats. He gave them respect. Claire was always grateful for that, before. But whenever he came in, like now, she found she was anything but. Because, although there was an initial layer of professionalism, there was the tiniest sense of sadness in the older man's eyes. Or at the very least, a dose of sympathy.

Shaun hated sympathy. He was always given it, on impulse, for anything, just because.

So he hated it.

But sitting there, Claire was one-hundred percent certain that he hated this kind ten times more.

"Hello, Shaun," Doctor Clark greeted. Shaun said nothing. His eyes flickered away from the door, now that someone was actually there. He looked away as soon as Melendez came into the room behind the other doctor. He turned so fast, Claire wasn't even sure he'd seen their attending in the first place. Neil looked more than tired— like he hadn't slept at all last night. He picked up on the change in his resident at once; his jaw locked back a little bit.

Despite the fact Clark's greeting wasn't acknowledged at all, his voice was just as even when he continued. "How are you feeling this morning?" he asked.

Shaun stared straight ahead, where nobody was. His lips were pressed tightly together, not about to budge. Claire's eyes stung when she saw that his were misting over. Doctor Clark took note of this and went on. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you this, but everything's clear and out of your system now. There aren't any complications, any heart murmurs…you've come out of it completely unscathed, which is quite a good thing." Shaun's eyes teared even faster. Still, his expression was blank. "All that's left now is to decide what happens from here on. To make all the arrangements that are needed, and make sure that there's a road to recovery."

Claire was silently begging her friend to say something. Or even react in the tiniest way. But he didn't.

Clark cleared his throat and walked the rest of the way to the bed. In his hand he held several brochures, which he placed down by Shaun's hand. Shaun's eyes flickered to them, but only for a second. He didn't have to look at them longer to understand. He was even more upset when he turned away again. "These are some of the most successful mental health facilities in the area," Clark explained regardless. Claire reached up and hid her face away in her hands. "Every patient I've referred to any of these places has come back with a much better outlook on life, and they've gone on to make a complete recovery. They're close, they work with you in a one-on-one way, you're allowed to—"

"I don't want to go anywhere," Shaun objected. His voice was soft and scratchy, but he cut off Clark immediately. There was no surprise in the doctor's expression; if Claire had to guess, this exchange was always the one that happened once those pamphlets were put down. This was all a routine for him— he'd seen it time and again, she was certain. But she'd never seen it before, and she'd certainly never see Shaun like this before. She looked back at Jared, her expression pained, and found comfort to know that when he returned her stare, he was just as grieved. "I want to go home," Shaun pressed.

Doctor Clark ducked his head to the side, as if in relent. But he was anything but relenting when he replied: "Legally, we cannot allow you to go home, Shaun."

Shaun knew this already— again, there was no surprise. But all the same he didn't abandon the effort. "I want to go home," he repeated. His voice was somehow even smaller.

"Why?" Melendez spoke up this time. Claire cringed at the hard edge to his voice. She knew he didn't mean it. It was just how he was. But, for this specific situation, the tone was too abrasive. "So you can just do all of this again in an hour?" he demanded. Shaun didn't blink, but Claire watched as tears made their way down his face anyway. "So you can take even more pills, find another place to hide— make sure this time around it works?"

Clark shot him a look. Only reluctantly did he back off. "Shaun, I understand you want to go home, but the fact is you can't," he replied, redirecting back to his patient again. "The fact is that the hospital is not going to release you unless it is to an inpatient facility, and if you won't go willingly yourself, then we will be more than prepared to involuntarily commit you." His voice softened a bit when he said: "But I think you're smart enough to know which one is the better option."

Shaun didn't look at the pamphlets.

Doctor Clark nodded a little stiffly. He was about to say something else, when his pager suddenly went off, and he looked down to check it. He sighed. "I've got to go," he exhaled. "But I'll be back later, to ask if you've come to a decision. We're going to need one by two at the latest— if you still won't cooperate, then the hospital is going to arrange something on its own. We'll make sure it's a good choice…but I would really much rather you go someplace you want to." He waited, just in case Shaun was going to speak, or if there were any questions in general. When he got nothing, he nodded again and, stopping only to flash Melendez another look, he turned and headed out.

There was silence for a long time, as this was all digested. Claire broke the silence, staring down at the floor sorrowfully. "You should pick one, Shaun," she rasped. She looked up at him, hurt by the expression on his face. "The sooner you go, the easier it will be. The faster you'll get better— and you need to get better. We all want you to get better, that's all we want. We want you to be happy."

"If you wanted me to be happy, you shouldn't have brought me here." The words sounded like they always did— like he was just stating a fact. She shouldn't have been surprised by them, but she would be lying if she said it didn't rip her heart in half to hear. She closed her eyes tightly and reached up to brush her hair back behind her ear. Jared had stood up from the couch a while ago and now he stood beside her chair. He reached over and placed a hand lightly on her shoulder, to try and comfort her. It didn't do much, but she was grateful for it anyway. At least it was something.

When Melendez spoke again, his voice was much more controlled. "Shaun, if you comply, and if you go into treatment, it'll be easier for you to be able to recover, in more ways than one. It'll show that you want to get back to normal and get your life back on track. That you want to return to work. I'm fighting Andrews tooth and nail to let you keep your residency. If you go to any one of these programs, and if you're cleared, the doctor there can certify that you're okay to return to work again. If that happens, even if Andrews doesn't want to admit you back, you can accuse him of discrimination, you have the option of—"

He stopped short, his face falling when he realized Shaun wasn't listening. Or if he was, he wasn't responding to it. His resident didn't seem to care about the obvious research he had put into this. After a hesitation, he sucked in a sharper breath and changed tactics. "Shaun, I want you to stay here. I want you to keep your job. I want you to get better, and this is the only way to do that." He shook his head, his shoulders moving up in a shrug. "I want you to stay here because I know you have so much potential as a surgeon. That you're not finished yet. You still have things to do. And I believe that this hospital needs someone like you in its staff. I believe that we need you. And that we're going to need you for quite a long time. If nothing else...you can at least think of it that way. That you should get better…because we need you to."

Shaun blinked, causing more tears to roll down his face. He looked down at the blankets covering him, and then to the IV in his wrist. His eyes slid to the pamphlets, all different colors with fancy writing and smiling faces on the front of them. Smiles that seemed too big, and too artificial.

He didn't say anything.

But slowly, he did move his hand and pick up the first one.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jared looked up at the sound of footsteps. He'd finally wandered down to the cafeteria to force something down into his stomach. He wasn't hungry at all, but he'd begun to feel faint, so he figured he would be quick. Claire hadn't eaten either, but she'd stayed up with Shaun, refusing to leave his side. She'd said she wasn't hungry, and it was clear by looking at her that the mere thought of food ran the risk of making her sick. He'd told himself he would at least bring her a little bag of chips. But here she was, walking over to him. Surprised, he put down his sandwich.

She sat down in the chair across from him. She sighed and held her face in her hands. He was worried immediately. "What?" he asked. She blew out her cheeks and let her arms thud down onto the table. "What happened? Did something happen? I've only been down here for three minutes." It took at least five to create an emergency, didn't it?

"He picked one," she sighed, and Jared relaxed.

"That's good, right?" He wasn't sure why she looked so dejected. Upon first glance, he'd expected horrible news, but this was at least a step in the right direction. "So he's going to go somewhere? He's going to get help? We'll be able to visit him, right? How long is he going to be there? Is he—?"

She started to speak before he could finish his barrage of questions. "He's still upset, Jared— he's even more upset now that he has to go someplace." Her voice was frayed into pieces, and her eyes were teary. "He hates us," she croaked, pointing out what was pretty obvious to the both of them, but hadn't been stated yet. "He hates us for saving him, he wishes he'd died in his bathroom, and I just—" She broke off, blinking hard. "I just can't stop wondering if he's ever going to not," she managed. "I'm worried he's never going to come back from this. Like…like, this is it, and we didn't just lose Glassman, we lost Shaun too."

"You can't think like that," Jared objected. "You can't think things like that because then how can you expect Shaun to think anything different?" She didn't have a comeback for this. "We have to be the stronger ones, Claire. And that doesn't come with a choice— we just have to do it. Even if he hates us, even if he's angry now, we still have to be there for him. We still have to support him and remind him all the time that we're not angry. We have to say it so much that it gets stuck in his head, because it's better than any alternative thing that can get stuck there." He shook his head. "We have to be stronger, and tougher, we have to visit him at the facility if we can, and we have to think the best possible outcome, because you know he's not going to think it himself."

Claire was studying the table the entire time he spoke. She was quiet for a while once he finished, but softly, she eventually got out: "You're leaving tomorrow."

The words punched him in the gut. He turned and checked his phone, but sure enough, the date stared back at him. He blinked rapidly, his mind going blank. Claire just watched him. Until eventually, he croaked: "I…well, I can't." She straightened, confused. He shook his head. "I can't leave, not now," he stammered. "I have to stay here for him."

"Jared…you can't just put everything off…" she objected weakly. "You have…a new residency, and plans, and—"

"A friend who's more important than all of that combined," he finished for her. She stopped, emotion flooding her face. He picked up his sandwich and took another bite. They were both silent for nearly a full minute. Before: "I'm not leaving," he repeated, surer this time. He shook his head once. "Not now."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

They volunteered to drive him there. Of course they did. They were going to be with him every step of way of this whole thing, even if he didn't want them to be. He got up out of bed, a little unsteady on his feet, and he changed into the clothes he'd been wearing when Jared had carried him in. Melendez was there to say goodbye, and to promise him he would be there fighting for him when he came back. 'When' and 'if'. To Melendez, there wasn't a question. The sincerity of this vow made Claire smile, but Shaun hadn't reacted much. Morgan and Park had been there as well, mostly waiting for a task from Melendez. They weren't as involved in the situation as the other three were. They hadn't said much. Park had told Shaun he would see him later, as good as promise as any that things would return to normal.

Morgan had quietly told Shaun to get better and come back soon.

They'd left. The facility wasn't too far away; twenty, thirty minutes. The ride was mostly silent. Jared was driving— Claire had started to get in the back, but Shaun had chosen that seat instead. He likely did this to be more separated from them, but she took the other back seat instead. He'd stared out the window, so she couldn't see his reaction, but she figured it wasn't a positive one. But she couldn't move to take the front passenger seat; he was leaving, for who knew how long. She wanted to be close to him for as long as she could.

Jared started up the GPS and pulled out of the hospital parking lot. As they drove, she couldn't keep her eyes from flickering to Shaun every so often. Her stomach would jolt every time. All that came to mind was the image of him the last time he had been in that seat. How pale he'd been, and how unresponsive. How vomit had been trickling out of the corner of his mouth as his body struggled to save itself any way it possibly could. It turned her stomach, and she had to look away.

They'd tried to break the silence a couple of times.

"I…know this place allows visiting," Claire piped up at one point. She'd looked at Shaun hopefully. He'd still been peering out the window. "Maybe…we can come and visit you. Every day, even…if you wanted." He'd glanced at her, but too quickly to mean anything. Just the tiniest of flickers in her direction. She weakened. "We're really going to miss you, Shaun…" She looked back down at her lap after a second. "But…I guess we've missed you for a long time now…"

She didn't get anything back. She wasn't expecting anything, though.

After what felt like forever, they pulled up to the building and parked. It looked nice.

Someone was waiting at the door for them. They perked and waved when Jared cut the engine. They looked nice, too. All three of them filed out of the car and walked together up the sidewalk. Shaun was in the middle; against his chest, he was holding the bag that Claire had taken liberty of packing for him. She didn't know how it worked— how many outfits he'd need. But she still had his spare key, and the sooner they got him to this place, the better off they would be. So she'd gone very quickly, while Jared kept him company. She'd rushed in and out, not wanting to stay long. And she had purposefully looked anywhere but the bathroom.

They walked side-by-side. The minutes they had left together were trickling away. She wanted to grab them and hold on as tight as she could. She wanted to hug Shaun and beg him to get better. When Shaun first started his residency, she had no idea how close they would have gotten. But she certainly hadn't anticipated they would be walking together like this, in the wake of the situation they'd had.

"Shaun Murphy," the person waiting greeted. Her voice was just as warm as her expression was. "We're so happy to have you." They all came to a stop. Shaun's eyes were dull. The woman looked at his bag and held out her hands. "I can take that for you," she offered. When he didn't make a move to hand it over, her voice was a little gentler when she added: "We have to make sure you can have everything that's in there. Please."

Claire could have sworn Shaun shot her a look, at this. All the same, he gave up his bag. The woman smiled in relief. "Thank you," she said brightly. "Well…won't you come in? I'm afraid…patients only after this point. Unless it's during visiting hours, which have passed. And we ask that for the first few days, that there are no visitors." She gave them all a kind smile, even though her next words caused pain to clench around Claire's throat. "You can have a moment to say your good-byes, if you'd like."

He looked at them but didn't seem to know what to say. Claire softened, trying to look at him encouragingly. "You get better," she ordered. "And we'll be waiting right here for you when you do."

Jared nodded. "Take all the time you need, Shaun," he added. "We just want you to be happy."

He blinked, looking from one friend to another. It looked like there was too much he wanted to say. Like it was all building up on his tongue, but he couldn't get it out. Eventually, he just gave a tiny nod. That was all he was going to be able to do. Jared and Claire stood together and watched as Shaun turned and followed the woman into the facility, putting his back to them. It hurt them both, to see him go, and know that it was a question on whether or not they would see him again soon. Even when the door closed behind them, the pair stayed where they were, just staring in uncertainty.

The gap where Shaun had been between them was still there.

When they finally turned and went back for the car, they still didn't close it.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Five days went by without a word. When Claire's phone rang, she didn't think much of it. The number was a strange one, and she figured it was a telemarketer. She almost didn't answer, but it wasn't like she was doing anything important. She wasn't working today— she was just making a quick lunch. So she sighed and answered, wedging her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she stirred her quickly-cooking noodles. "Claire Browne," she offered, wondering whether or not she still had any broccoli left. She was pretty sure she'd eaten it all…

"Hello, Claire."

She nearly dropped her phone into the bubbling pot. She jerked, looking up in a snap as her eyes widened. "S-Shaun?" She would recognize his voice in an instant, but it came out as a question anyway. They'd been waiting for ages to get any word on how Shaun was doing. Now he'd called her. She hadn't expected that at all. Scrambling to right her wrong, horrified she came across as too shocked, she quickly turned off the stove and stepped away. "Hi!" She grimaced, knowing it was too eager. "How— how are you, Shaun? You're…calling me." She was blowing this.

"They said I could call somebody." She closed her eyes tightly, her expression crumbling for a brief second at the sound of his voice. He sounded like he used to. Not happy…but not horribly upset, either. She hadn't realized how much she'd been dying to hear him this way. "I didn't know who to call." There was a tiny pause, before: "Is…it okay that I called you?"

"Of course it is, of course it is, Shaun!" she rushed. "I'm glad you did; I've been thinking about you a lot…wondering if you're okay, but you— you sound much better! Are you okay? Are you working through…?" She closed her eyes and sighed, a worn smile twitching over her face. "I'm sorry," she sighed. "I'm just so happy to talk to you, you have no idea."

Shaun was quiet for a long time. Claire gave him a moment's pause to think. Eventually, his voice barely audible, he murmured: "I'm sorry."

Stupidly, she asked on impulse: "For what?" She shook her head fast and doubled back as understanding dawned. "Oh, don't— Shaun, please don't apologize. To me, or Jared, we're just— we're just glad we got to you in time, we're not angry. At all. I promise." She softened. "Are you getting better, Shaun?" she prompted. "I know…you need time, and time is all we're willing to give you, but…you're just…my best friend. I care about you…I want you to be happy again as soon as possible."

He paused again, before he replied. "I don't know."

She swallowed this, staring at the floor. "That's okay," she reassured. "I understand."

Lifetimes seemed to pass in silence.

His voice was quieter. More choked. "…I miss him," he croaked.

She closed her eyes again. She could hear his breathing on the other end, a touch more escalated. She wondered where he was. If he was sitting in his room, if he was standing in a hallway. The thought made her throat swell and burn. She found the reply falling out of her mouth before she could really consider whether or not it would be right.

"I miss you," she countered.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

'Look into your heart, pretty baby, is it achin' with some nameless need? Is there somethin' wrong and you can't put your finger on it? Right then, roll to me.'

They were laying down on the ground, flat on their backs as they looked up at the sky. They had talked at first, but gradually they'd gotten quieter and quieter. But it had been a comfortable quiet. A refreshing one. One they hadn't had in a long time. Claire had pointed out a cloud that looked like a flower, and Shaun had met the comment by pointing to another that looked like a crab. It had gradually evolved into that. She'd turned music on a while ago, putting her phone on shuffle. It was playing quietly, as not to bother anyone else that could wander over in this direction. But it was loud enough to hear. And it was nice.

'And I don't think I have ever seen a soul so in despair. So if you want to talk the night through, guess who will be there.'

She pointed to another one, grinning. "That one looks like a kitten."

"You thought the other one looked like a kitten," Shaun objected.

"I like kittens."

'So don't try to deny it, pretty baby, you've been down so long, you can hardly see. When the engine's stalled, and it won't stop rainin' it's the right time to roll to me.'

She let her arm fall back to the grass. "I'm going to be so itchy when I stand up," she sighed.

Shaun's eyes were combing through the clouds. His response was a small whisper. "So don't."

Her eyes flashed. She hesitated for a long heartbeat, before she put on a tiny smile. "Eh. I have to stand up eventually. It'll only itch for a little bit." Shaun frowned, but he didn't object. She turned her head to the side, to look at him. He was much healthier. His skin wasn't as pale— it looked like he'd gained back at least a little bit of the weight he'd lost. His eyes weren't underlined with shadows; he was sleeping more. His voice wasn't choked or rough. He was getting better. Slowly but surely.

She smiled and reached out to put her hand lightly down on top of his, where it was against the grass. He blinked, surprised when he looked at her. His expression was confused at first, but at her smile, it cleared a little bit. He didn't move his hand away. The edge of his mouth twitched upward just the tiniest bit, in barely anything of a grin. One that didn't quite reach his eyes just yet. But she was willing to take it. Her smile only blossomed more, and she looked back up at the sky, keeping her hand where it was.

Holding faithfully to his and making sure not to let go. Ever again.

'And I don't think I have ever seen a soul so in despair. So if you want to talk the night through guess who will be there…?'

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"I can't believe I've never told you guys that story before, it's literally the moment my true self was defined. It's the turning point in my life."

"I don't think a major, emotional turning point can involve an ice cream truck," Claire objected.

"Well that's an awfully flawed conclusion to reach when I just told you one that does," Jared replied.

She grinned, rolling her eyes. They were all sitting together at a table near a window. It kind of reminded her of the cafeteria at Saint Bonaventure— plenty of huge windows to let light stream into the room and brighten it up. To make it cheery, and happy. There were a couple of other patients sitting at tables and talking to visitors as well. Some were smiling, some looked disgruntled. Shaun wasn't smiling, but the look on his face was content. He was satisfied to sit with them and listen.

But once Jared's enthralling tale had passed, he did speak. Not reacting to a question but speaking first on his own will. It caused them to immediately smile and look at him. "You're not…going to Colorado?" Shaun asked. He'd been in here for two weeks and two days. The deadline for Denver was long past due. "Weren't you…supposed to leave a long time ago?"

Jared kept the grin on his face. "Yeah, I was supposed to leave. But, uh…I realized I didn't want to drop everything…I like the life I have here, I like the friends I have." He smiled at Shaun and shrugged one shoulder. "Some things are more important. Melendez understood. If I don't get the position, I might have to leave anyway…but for now, Denver said they were willing to wait for me. And I wanted to stay." Shaun contemplated this before he gave a tiny nod. Jared cleared his throat and moved away from the sappy stuff. "You know…Melendez and Andrews have been arguing practically every day, it's actually pretty fantastic. Because Melendez is winning, of course. You shouldn't worry about your job— it'll be waiting for you when you get back."

Shaun looked down at the table. "Is Melendez angry with me?"

"Of course not," Claire answered. "Nobody is. He's fighting because he wants to, Shaun, not because he has to."

Shaun hesitated, but just nodded again.

"How are you doing, Shaun?" Jared asked gently. The question was bound to rear its head sooner or later; it was a miracle they'd gotten this far along without it popping up.

Shaun considered the question. His reply was gradual. "I've…been thinking." Claire and Jared glanced at one another but didn't interrupt. They let him go as slowly as he needed to. He blinked and looked over to the side, through the window nearest to them. "I…didn't understand before. But now…I think I do." He inhaled slowly. His voice was more strained when he continued, but somehow it remained strong. "Something that Glassman told me. Before he died. He told me…the sun stays hot."

Claire's forehead creased. She followed his gaze outside.

"I think…he meant that it'll stay. Even after he…" He trailed off. He frowned, and weakened, but went on regardless. "And it did." He regarded the sunlight. "A lot of things have changed, but…that hasn't. And maybe…that's the most important thing."

They were silent, taking in this idea. Claire melted with a mixture of affection, and even a little pride. "No matter what happens, at least you can count on that much," she backed up.

He nodded, still staring outside. His reply was a tiny murmur. "Yes," he mused, absent, like he wasn't paying attention to what was coming out of his mouth. "There's always tomorrow."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Sure…just take your time. It's not like we don't have patients to attend to…" Claire couldn't keep back a smile at Melendez's irritation, which he was making a specific point to harp on this morning. He was compensating, she supposed. Which was mostly what was making her smirk. He was oblivious to it, though; or maybe he was just ignoring her so that he didn't have to address it. "Someone could be dying of appendicitis right now, and we're loitering around here doing nothing."

"Yeah. You're right, the whole hospital is collapsing," Claire commented, glancing at him. He shot her a look, which she just smiled against. "They're coming," she reassured instead, dismissive.

Sure enough, no sooner did she say this did everyone come down the stairs, ready to start their shift. Morgan was at the head, of course, because where else would she be? Claire was almost surprised she'd beaten her here— she was sure Morgan was irritated about that. Park was coming up behind, clipboard already in hand. They were ready to start working— bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like everyone was required to come in. Still, Melendez's eyes flashed with irrigation. "Jesus Chr— where is—!?"

He didn't get to finish before the last two rushed around the corner and down towards them. Jared was laughing— Claire would put money down that he was the reason they were on the later side. Or, not late, but less than three minutes away from being late. Shaun wore a slightly nervous look. Whether that was because of whatever Jared had said, or because of the fact it was his first day back, Claire couldn't tell. But Jared wasn't straying much from his side, and together, they met with the rest of them.

"Is everyone here?" Melendez asked dully. Claire shuffled her feet, before she went over to duck beside Shaun. She shot him a comforting look, which he seemed to take with gratitude. "Is everyone accounted for? Nobody's going to leave? Everyone's here to work? Everyone's fine?" Shaun looked away a little uncomfortably. Melendez stepped to the side. "C'mon, then," he said, curt. "What are you all waiting for?" They all glanced at one another before they started to file away for the Emergency Room. Melendez watched them go, his hands on his hips. Before he called out: "Murphy, wait."

Shaun jerked to a stop. Claire shot him one more tender look before she and Jared reluctantly followed the other two, leaving them alone. Shaun shuffled around to face his attending. Though he couldn't meet his gaze. Fumbling, he started to try and come up with something that he wanted. "I'm…sorry for—"

"Are you alright?" Melendez asked carefully.

He was caught off-guard at the question. But at least now he knew the answer a little bit more. "…Yes. I'm getting better."

Melendez searched his face. "Alright." His tone was measured. "It's good to have you back, Shaun." He roused, looking at him now. Melendez gave him a smile. "I'm looking forward to teaching you again."

"I'm looking forward to learning from you." And Shaun found the reply was sincere.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"You can't call it a Crack-Pot. Breaking something doesn't change its name," Shaun argued.

Jared sighed. "You're missing the point of the whole thing, Shaun."

Claire grinned, moving her piece along the board. "You guys are missing the fact I just got the first Monopoly!" She ended with a yell, throwing her arms up into the air before drumming her hands down on the table. The two of them looked down in shock, but sure enough, she had all the reds now. They'd been so focused on their debate it had slipped their mind to pay attention.

"What!? No! You're cheating," Jared accused.

"What? Like how you cheated when you stole a thousand dollars from the bank?" Claire demanded. Jared puffed up in anger, but she only jabbed her finger at him. "That's right, I saw," she declared. "You're not slick, Jared."

"You're insulting my honor at this point, and I don't appreciate it."

"How can you have seven five-hundred-dollar bills? Your best properties are the brown ones."

"Don't knock my properties, Claire, they're all I have," he snapped.

"Clearly," she noted. "You're kind of in last place. Even with stealing from the bank."

"I didn't steal," he defended at once.

Shaun broke in. "I watched you steal."

He slammed his hands down on the table, Shaun jumping about five inches off his chair. "Shaun!" he gasped. "I thought you cared about me! How am I supposed to feed my wife and child now!?"

Shaun stared at him blankly. He looked from him to the board, obviously confused. Eventually, he stuttered out: "Be better at this game."

Claire snorted. She reached out her hand and Shaun smiled a little bit as he gave her a high-five. Jared watched them sourly. Or, at least he tried to stay sour. Quickly, the scowl fractured into a grin. He shook his head, starting to snicker a little bit under his breath and eventually just collapsing into a fit of laughter. Claire started laughing too, and before too long, Shaun couldn't hold back his own tiny giggles just out of sheer peer pressure.

And it kept going.

Jared was laughing so hard there was a stitch in his side. Shaun was smiling from ear-to-ear, and Claire was crying. It really hadn't been all that funny. Part of it hadn't even meant as a joke, even. But they couldn't stop laughing. After such a long time of nothing but heartache, they weren't willing to let go of this break. They wanted to linger in it for as long as they could and feel the full relief of being able to do just that. So they kept laughing, even long after the joke stopped being funny. The tears that Claire wiped away were mostly conjured by the beam on her friend's face at his apparent success in comedy. The smile that was full, and genuine, and rare in itself but now meant much more.

They laughed because it was funny, and they were having a nice night together, in Shaun's apartment. That they had talked over dinner and were now playing Monopoly in the exact place where once before, something horrible and terrible had happened. Something that, for a moment, they hadn't believed they would be able to move on from.

They were laughing because the joke had been a little funny.

But mostly, they were laughing because they were okay. Because they'd gotten through.

Because from now on, everything might be just fine.


End file.
